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The Boy Spy 


A SUBSTANTIALLY TRUE RECORD OF SECRET SERVICE DURING THE WAR 
OF THE REBELLION. A CORRECT ACCOUNT OF EVENTS 
WITNESSED BY A SOLDIER ATTACHED TO 
HEADQUARTERS 


1'HE ONLY PRACTICAL HISTORY OF WAR TELEGRAPHERS IN THE FIELD —A 
FULL ACCOUNT OF THE MYSTERIES OF SIGNALLING BY FLAGS, 
TORCHES, AND ROCKETS—THRILLING SCENES OF 
BATTLES. CAPTURES AND ESCAPES 


/ 


BY 

MAJOR J. O. KERBEY 

\\ 




) 

> V 

> , 1 






CHICAGO: 

M. A. Donohue & Co 

407-429 Dearborn St. 





COPYRIGHT BY 

J. O. Keebey. 

1887 - 88 - 89 - 90 . 


•*.'V ’>•* 


'7 !V09 







PREFACE 


The following unpretending narrative of some of the actual 
experiences of a boy in the War of the Rebellion is fraternally 
dedicated to my comrades of the G. A. R. 

Part of these adventures were recorded in the press of the 
country at the time of their occurrence, and more recently, in 
detached and crude form, in different papers. 

Through the kindly interest of many friends, and especially 
that of my relative and comrade, Col. J. H. Madden, of Danville, 
Illinois, the revised and collated Story is now offered to the public 
and corrected from the original notes and MSS. 

Yours in F. C. & L., 

The Author. 




CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Introductory.. 9 

On Duty as a Spy at the Rebel Capital, Montgomery, Ala¬ 
bama —Living in same Hotel with Jeff Davis and His Cab¬ 
inet—Conspirators from Washington Interviewed—Bounty 
Offered by Confederates before a Gun Was Fired — Fort 

Sumter and Fort Pickens. 19 

Pensacola, Florida—In Rebel Lines—Fort Pickens—Ad¬ 
miral Porter and the Navy. 28 

Crossing the Bay to Fort Pickens, etc. 88 

Rebel Newspapers—On Admiral Porter’s Ship . 52 

Admiral Porter Saves the Boy’s Life—Interview with the 
Rebel Flag-of-Truce Officers, Who Claim Him for a Victim 

— Scenes on Board a Man-of-War—Return Home by Sea— 

Reception in New York — Telegraph Acquaintances — New 
York Papers Record the Adventure in Full Page. 65 

Reporting to the Secretary of War, at Washington—Or¬ 
dered on Another Scout to Virginia—In Patterson’s Army, 

in Virginia, before the Battle of Bull Run. 80 

A Night’s Scout in Johnston's Army—Rebel Signals — 
Visitors from the Union Army Headquarters Report to 
Rebel Headquarters—General J. E. Johnston’s Escape to 
Beauregard Reported to General Patterson—Fitz-John 
Porter Responsible for the First Battle of Bull Run, as He 
Was Cashiered for That of the Second Bull Run—An Im¬ 
portant Contribution to the War History of the Time— 

The Story since Confirmed by the Century Historians of 

Lincoln, Secretaries Nicolay and Hay. 94 

Reporting to General Bank’s Headquarters for Duty—The 
Life of Jeff Davis Threatened-—Captured at Harper’s 
Ferry — Interesting Personal Letters Corroborating the 

Supposed Death of the “ Boy Spy.”. 114 

At Beauregard’s Headquarters — On Duty at Manassas. 125 

Important Documents Intercepted at Manassas, which Esta¬ 
blished the Fact that the Rebel Army had no Intention, and 
Were not Able to Advance after Manassas—The Rebel Army 
Demoralized by Success, and Twenty-five Per Cent. Ab¬ 
sent from Epidemic—on the Field after the Battle—Obser¬ 
vation Inside Rebel Camps—Talking with Richmond by 
Wire—Captured by Rebel Picket in Sight of the Signal 

Lights at Georgetown College. 134 

Another Escape, etc. 154 

One More Escape—“ Yanking” the Telegraph Wires—“ On 

to Richmond!”—A Close Shave. 166 

On to Richmond — A Night of Terror — A Ghastly Find 
in the Woods — Attacked by Bloodhounds — Other Mira¬ 
culous Escapes—First Visit to Fredericksburg—A Col¬ 
lection Taken up in a Church in Virginia for the “Boy Spy ” 

— Arrives in Richmond. 178 


v 

















CONTENTS. 


chapter. 

XY. 


XVI. 


XVII. 

XVIII. 


XIX. 


XX, 

XXI. 

XXII. 

XXIII. 

XXIV. 

XXV. 


XXVI. 

XXVII. 


PA ©’ll 

Sick in Richmond — Concealed by a Colored Boy and Un¬ 
able to Move—An Original Cipher Letter Sent Through 
the Blockade to Washington that Tells the Whole Story in 
a Few Words—-Meeting with Maryland Refugees—The 
‘‘Boy Spy” Serenaded—“Maryland, My Maryland”— 

Jeff Davis’ Office and Home—A Visit to Union Prisoners at 

Libby Prison, etc. 19a 

Richmond—Hollywood—J eff Davis—Breckenridge— Extra 

Billy Smith — Mayor, Governor, etc.214 

Richmond—A Colse Shave.221 

Richmond on an Autumn Morning—A Group of Good Look¬ 
ing Soldiers—Jeff Davis Passes By — The Battle of Ball’s 

Bluff — Richmond Newspapers.238 

A Narrow Escape — Recognized by Texas Friends at a Rich¬ 
mond Theatre — Personnel of the Maryland Battery—Re¬ 
fugees from Ireland—Camp Lee, near Richmond — Our 
Captain—Lieutenant Claiborne, of Mississippi—Our Sec¬ 
tion Drills—Horses for Our Use in Town and Adjoining 
County—Visits of Ladies—Capitola—Popularity of Re¬ 
fugees— The Entertainment for Marylanders—Tableau 
— Jeff Davis Strikes the Chains from the Enslaved Mary¬ 
land Beauty..244 

Richmond, Fall 1861 — Daily Visits to the War Office, Mech¬ 
anics Hall — Evenings Devoted to Visits in Town—Mixed 
up with Maryland Ladies—Fort Pickens Opens Fire on 
Pensacola-Batteries—General Winder, of Maryland—Jeff 
Davis Inaugurated President—Shake Hands with Jeff 

Davis.261 

One Sunday in Richmond—Jeff Davis’ and General Lee’s 
Homes and Church—Recognized at Libby Prison — Visit 
to Texas Camp—A “Difficulty” Renewed — Thrilling 
Experience—A Night in Richmond with Texas Boys,... 272 
Maryland “Refugees’’—Coercing into the Union in East 
Tennessee" Refugees” — Parson Brownlow Interviewed — 

A Happy Experience with Maggie Craig—The Battle of 
Mill Spring—First Union Victory as Seen from Inside the 

Rebel Army. 293 

Cruelty of General Ledbetter—Another Narrow Escape— 
Ordered to Cumberland Gap — A Wearisome Journey— Ar¬ 
rival at the Gap — The Stolen Letter—Alone in the Dark¬ 
ness—The North Star—Day Dawn.gl4 

Return Home from Cumberland Gap—Meeting with Parson 

Brownlow on His Trip to Washington.33§ 

Arrival at Washington — Meets Hon. John Covode—J. W. 
Forney and Senators—Testimony Before Committee on the 
Conduct of the War — Remarkable Interviews with Secret¬ 
ary Stanton — A Visit to Mr. Lincoln, at Washington — The 
Telegraph Corps — Again Odered to the Front, at Fred¬ 
ericksburg, Virginia... 354 

Geno — Fredericksburg — A Chapter of War History not in 

The Century Papers. 377 

A Scout to Richmond Develops Important Information—No 
Force in Front of McDowell to Prevent his Co-operating 
with McClellan—The Secretary of War Responsible for the 
Failure of the Peninsula Campaign—Our Spy as a War 














CONTENTS. 


vil 


OflAPTW*. PAGB 

Correspondent Antagonizes the War Department by Criti¬ 
cism in the Papers—Is Arrested on a Technicality and Sent 
a Special Prisoner to Old Capitol by the Secretary of War’s 

Orders. 30(> 

XXVIII. Old Capitol Prison—Belle Boyd, the Rebel Spy, a Companion 
and Friend—A Disguised English Duke—Interesting 
Scenes and Experiences in this Famous State Prison—Plan¬ 
ning to Escape Disguised as a Contraband—Released on 


Parole by Order of the Secretary of War.412 

XXIX. Fired Out of Old Capitol Prison—“Don’t Come Here 
Again ! ”—My Friend the Jew Sutler—-Out in a New Rig 

— At the Canterbury Theatre....431 

XXX. Life at Headquarters Army of Potomac—Some Startling 
Revelations as to the ** True Inwardness,” not to say Cussed¬ 


ness, of Our High Union Officials—Interesting Descriptions 
of Family Life at Headquarters—“Signals”—Ciphers— 
Again Volunteering for Secret Service Inside the Rebel 
Army—A Remarkable Statement about Burnside and 
Hooker—Introduction to General Meade — A Night on the 

Rappahannock Interviewing Rebel Pickets.- 451 

XXXI. Conspiracies among Union Generals and Northern Politi¬ 
cians— The Defense of that Unappreciated Army, the 
Cavalry—Hooker and Dead Cavalrymen — Stoneman’s Ce¬ 
lebrated Raid to Richmond Truthfully Described, and Its 
Failure to Capture Richmond Accounted for—A Chapter 
on the “ Secret Service” not Referred to in Official Reports 


or Current War History.480 

XXXII. Farewell to Fredericksburg — General Pleasonton — Cavalry 
Fighting at Brandy and Aldie—Looking after Stuart’s 
Rebel Cavalry—A Couple of Close Calls—Chased by 
Mosby’s Guerrillas—With Custer in Frederick, Md., the 

Day before the Battle, Flirting with the Girls. 510 

XXXIII. Sent to Find General Buford — A Hasty Ride-—The Battle 
of Gettysburg — Cemetery Ridge — General Doubleday — 

General Hancock — The Second Day of the Battle.510 

XXXIV. Closing Chapter,..548 









ILLUSTRATIONS, 


PAGE. 

"If You are around Here when We Begin the Job, You Will Find out 

all about That.”. . Frontispiece. 

A Close Call at Gettysburg. 537 

"Ah! Sketching, Are You?”. CO 

An Interview with Parson Brownlow...304 

"Are You Union, or Confederate?”. 333 

‘ * Bill, Ain’t He the Fellow ? ”. 282 

Cavalry Picket on the Rappahannock. 473 

"Colonel Mosby’s Soldiers, I Reckon, Sir? ”.510 

Cumberland Gap — This Was Enough for Me. 329 

Geno Was Not only the Prettiest, but the Sweetest Girl I ever Saw...381 

"Get Up Here, You Damned Old Traitor.”. . 310 

"Halt!”. 150 

He seemed to have Forgotten all about Dressing Himself. 359 

I’d Cut Him and Feed the Pieces to the Sharks. 44 

I had Stepped onto the Decaying Body of— a Man! . 181 

In an Instant He Put the Point of His Sword against My Breast. 347 

In Old Capitol Prison — Disguised as a Contraband.427 

In Old Capitol Prison —I Admit that I Broke Down Completely. 413 

I Was Being " Toted ” Back to the Rebel Army. . 158 

I Whispered to Him as I Went Past: "Norfolk is Taken.”.223 

I "Yanked,” or by a Dexterous "Twist of the Wrist,” I Was Able to 

Break the Wire. 170 

Lauding Kerslop over the Side onto the Ground... 177 

Miss Mamie Wells Ministering to the Wounded...400 

On a Scout to Richmond. ... 390 

Recognized by Texans at Richmond Theatre.248 

Refusing in Her very Decided Manner to Walk under " That Flag.”_383 

Tail Piece — To the Boy Spy. 550 

Tapping the Telegraph Wire — ‘ ‘ Are the Yanks in Fredericksburg ? ” ... 493 

" Thank God, I’m Safe among my Friends.”. 121 

The Sergeant kindly Gave Him the Steel. 441 

" To Father — I am Safe. Are All Well at Home?”.352 

We hastily Dressed and Ran Back from the Bank. 95 

You always Say Down Here, and That You’re Going to go up Home .... 197 


9 

































THE BOY SPY 


CHAPTER I. 

INTRODUCTORY. 

A successful scout, or spy, is like a great poet in one respect: 
he is born, not made—subject to the requisition of the military 
genius of the time. 

That I was not born to be hanged is a self-evident proposition. 
Whether I was a successful scout or not, the reader of these pages 
must determine. 

It was my good fortune to have first seen the light under the 
shadow of one of the spurs of the Blue Ridge Mountains, in the 
beautiful Cumberland Valley, in the State of Pennsylvania, near 
Mason and Dixon's line. 

This same locality is distinguished as the birth-place of Presi¬ 
dent James Buchanan, and also that of Thomas A. Scott, President 
of the Pennsylvania Railroad and its system, under whom I served. 
Mr. Scott used to say he had leased this position for ninety-nine 
years with twice the salary of the president of the United States. 

My grandfather, who had been an officer in the Royal Navy, of 
Great Britain, served in the same ships with Lord Nelson, had 
after the manner of his class kept a record of his remarkable and 
thrilling services in the British Navy during the wars of that period. 

The discovery of this, grandfather's diary—amongst other war 
papers—after his death, I may say, here, accounts in a manner for 
the spirit of adventure in my disposition. I come by it naturally, 
and following the precedent, submit this unpretending narrative, as 
another grandfather's diary. 

It appears that during the embargo declared during the war 
between the United States and England in 1812, my grandfather 
was caught ashore, as it were, in America. 

His brother, George, was in the service of the East India Com¬ 
pany, as a judge advocate, and lived on the Island of Ceylon at that 



10 


THE BOY SPY. 


time. Desiring to reach this brother, by getting a vessel at New 
Orleans, he started to walk overland, through a hostile country, to 
the headwaters of the Ohio and Mississippi Valley at Pittsburgh, 
where he could get a canoe or boat. 

It is a singular coincidence that this young English officer, in 
his scouting through an enemy’s country, traversed substantially 
the very same ground—Winchester, Va., Harper’s Ferry, Freder- 
icksburgh, etc.—that I, his youthful grandson, tramped over as a 
scout in another war half a century later. 

It was while on this journey that he Avas taken sick, and during 
a long illness he was nursed back to life by my grandmother, whom 
he subsequently married, and there located as an American citizen. 

He became the schoolmaster of the community, and in course 
of time, Thomas A. Scott Avas one of his brightest but most trouble¬ 
some scholars. 

In the process of this evolution, I became a messenger boy and 
student of telegraphy in the office of Colonel Thos. A. Scott, Avho 
Avas then superintendent of railways at Pittsburgh. 

In the same office, as a private clerk and telegrapher, was Mr. 
AndreAV Carnegie, now Avidely known as a capitalist. 

“Andy,” as this distinguished philanthropist was then famil¬ 
iarly knoAvn, and myself were “boys together,” and the reader is 
.permitted to refer to him for—as he recently assured me, in Jiis 
laughing and hearty manner—that he Avould give me a good endorse¬ 
ment, as one of his wild boys. 

Under Mr. Andrew Carnegie’s instruction I soon became a pro¬ 
ficient operator, and Avhen but a boy very easily read a telegraph 
instrument by sound, Avhich in those days was considered an extra¬ 
ordinary acquirement. Through Mr. Scott’s kindly interest in my¬ 
self, I had been promoted rapidly in raihvay work, and before leav¬ 
ing Pittsburgh Avas chief or division operator. This gave me very 
large responsibilities, for a boy of my age, as the road then had but 
one track, and close watch had to be kept of the various trains moA r - 
ing in the same or opposite directions. It became a habit of Colonel 
Scott, on receiving news of any accident to a train or bridge along 
the road, to have an engine fired up and be off at once, Avith me along 
provided with a pocket instrument and a little coil of copper wire. 
It seems noAV to me that such trips usually began at night. 



THE BOY SPY. 


11 


Arrived at the place of wreck, I would at once shin up a tele¬ 
graph pole, get the wire down, cut it, and establish a “ field station ’ 
at once, the nearest rail fence and a convenient bowlder furnishing 
desk and office seat, where I worked while Colonel Scott remained 
in charge of the work. He was thus at once put in direct commu¬ 
nication with every train and station on the road, and in as full 
personal control as if in his comfortable Pittsburgh office. Such 
work perfected me in field-telegraphing. At times, when a burned 
or broken bridge or a wrecked train delayed traffic, trains would 
accumulate at the point, and the noises of escaping steam 
from the engines, the progressing work, and the babel of voices about 
me, made it utterly impossible to hear any sound from my little 
magnet, or pocket instrument. I then discovered, by sheer neces¬ 
sity, that I could read the messages coming, by watching the move¬ 
ment of the armature of the magnet. The vibrations of a tele¬ 
graph armature are so slight as to be scarcely perceptible to 
the naked eye, yet a break, or the separating of the points 
of contact, are necessary to make the proper signals. Further 
experiences developed the phenomena that when sound and sight 
failed I could read still by the sense of feeling, by holding my 
finger-tips gently against the armature and noting its pulsations. I 
thus became by practice not only proficient, but expert in teleg¬ 
raphy Telegraphers know, though the general public may not, 
that messages can he sent by touching together the ends of a cut 
telegraph wire, and can be received by holding the ends to the 
tongue. My tongue, however, has always been too sensitive to take 
that kind of “subtle fluid.” 

Telegraphers have many methods of secret communication with 
each other: rattling teaspoons or tapping knives and forks at the 
table, or the apparently aimless “Devil's tattoo” of the fingers on 
the table or armchair are common methods, and I have heard of 
one in a tight corner who winlced out a message appealing for help. 
It might he well to avoid playing poker at a table where two teleg¬ 
raphers are chums, for it is possible that one might learn when to 
stay in a little longer for the raise and make a pot a little bigger. 

When Colonel Thos. A. Scott became Assistant Secretary of War 
he called into his service the railroaders and telegraphers whom he 
knew would be serviceable and faithful to the government. I record 


19 


THE BO 7 SPY. 


here the statement that the first to reach Washington upon Secretary 
Camerom’s call, was Mr. Scott and his Pennsylvania railroaders and 
telegraphers, who rebuilt and operated the destroyed Baltimore & 
Ohio railways and telegraphs, that enabled the first troops to reach 
the Capitol. 

It was on account of my supposed qualification as a telegrapher 
that I was subsequently detailed to enter the rebel lines and inter¬ 
cept their telegraphic communication at their headquarters. 

On one occasion, mentioned further on in this narrative, I was 
lounging near the old wooden shanty near General Beauregard's 
headquarters at Manassas Junction. I easily read important dis¬ 
patches to and from Richmond and elsewhere, and repeated the 
operation hour after hour, several days and nights. It was unfor¬ 
tunately the case, however, that I then had no means of rapid com¬ 
munication with Washington to transmit the information gained, 
although in later years of the war it would have been easy, as I was 
then a signal officer in the Army of the Potomac, and might have 
utilized some retired tree-top and signaled over the heads of the 
enemy to our own lines. This is rather anticipating my story, and, 
as Uncle Rufus Hatch once said, when I was acting as his private 
secretary, and he would become a little mixed in dictating letters 
to me, “We must preserve the sequence.” 

It is more than likely that I was too young in those days to 
properly appreciate the advantages of the rapid advancement I had 
gained in position and salary, especially as the latter enabled me to 
make a fool of myself; and here comes in my “first love story,” 
which I tell, because it had much to do with the adventures of which 
this narrative treats. 

“ I loved a maid, 

And she was wondrous fair to see,” 

and I will designate her as No. 1, to distinguish this from numerous 
other such affairs — on both sides of the lines. This affair, which 
served to further train me for the duties that lay before me, resulted 
in a visit, during the winter before the war broke out, to Western 
Texas, where a wealthy bachelor uncle had a well-stocked plantation, 
between San Antonio and Austin. There I became associated with 
the young sons of the best Texas families, and acquired the ability— 


THE BOY SPY. 


IS 


I had nearly written agility—to ride a bucking broncho and become 
an expert shot with a Colt's revolver. 

My experience as a rather fresh young Pennsylvania boy among 
the young Southern hot-bloods would make too long a chapter here, 
but suffice it to say that a youthful tendency to give my opinion on 
political questions, without regard to probable consequences, kept 
me in constant hot water after President Lincoln’s election. 

Among the young men Avith whom I associated, through my uncle’s 
standing and influence, was a grandson of the famous Colonel 
Davy Crockett, with whom I became involved in a difficulty, and. 
greatly to the astonishment of the “boys,” I promptly accepted his 
challenge to a pistol fight. Some of our older and more sensible 
friends quickly put an end to the affair. When my uncle (who was 
absent at Austin at the time) returned, he furnished me with a 
pocketful of gold double-eagles and shipped me off by stage to Gal¬ 
veston, whence I crossed the Gulf to New Orleans and came up the 
Mississippi to my home. 

Immediately preceding the inauguration of Mr. Lincoln, fol¬ 
lowing closely upon my return from Texas, I came on to Washington 
City. The purpose of this visit being solely a desire to gratify an 
aroused curiosity, by witnessing the sights and incidents consequent 
upon the impending change of the administration, about which 
there was much interest and excitement. As I had plenty of time, 
but not mudh money, to spend, 1 looked about for a cheap hotel, 
and was directed to the St. Charles, which was then, as now, located 
on the corner of Third and Pennsylvania avenues. Here I became 
domiciled, for the time being, and it so happened that I was seated 
at the same table in the hotel with Senator Andy Johnson, of Ten¬ 
nessee, who was living there, and perhaps through this accidental 
circumstance it came about that I was so soon to be engaged in the 
government’s service. 

Mr. Johnson, it will be remembered, had obtained some distinc¬ 
tion by his vigorous defense of the Union, in the Senate, at a time 
when nearly all the rest of the Southern Senators were either openly 
or secretly plotting treason. In my youthful enthusiasm for the 
cause of the Union, which had become strengthened by the South¬ 
ern associations of the preceding months, I naturally gave to Mr. 
Johnson my earliest admiration and sympathy. One day, while 


u 


THE BOY SPY . 


walking up Pennsylvania avenue, I was surprised to see standing 
in front of Brownes, now the Metropolitan Hotel, a certain gentle¬ 
man, earnestly engaged in conversation with Senator Wigfall, whom 
I had known in Texas as one of the prominent State officials under 
the then existing administration of Governor Sam. Houston. This 
gentleman, whose name I withhold, because he is living to-day and 
is well-known throughout Texas, was also at that time a business 
associate and a personal friend of the Texas uncle before referred to. 

I was pleasantly recognized, and at once introduced to Senator 
Wigfall as the “ nephew of my uncle.” Mr. Wigfall’s dogmatic man¬ 
ner impressed me unfavorably, being so unlike that of Mr. Johnson. 

I spent a great many evenings at Brown’s Hotel, in the rooms 
of my Texas friend, where were congregated every night, and late 
into the mornings, too, nearly all of the Texas people who were at 
that time in the city. In this way, without seeking their confidence, 
I became a silent and attentive listener to the many schemes and 
plans that were brewing for the overthrow of the government. 

Among the frequent visitors were Wigfall and Hon. John C. 
Breckinridge, of Kentucky, both of whom are now dead; but there 
are yet among the living certain distinguished Congressmen, at 
present in Washington, who were of that treasonable gang, who 
will not, I apprehend, deny the truth of the facts I here state. 

This gentleman’s mission in Washington, as I learned inciden¬ 
tally during his interviews with Senator Wigfall and others, was to 
secure the passage through Congress of some appropriation bill of 
a special character, for the benefit of Texas, which, if I rightly 
remember, referred to lands or school funds, the object being to 
secure the benefit of the act before that State should pass the 
secession ordinance. It was understood and admitted during these 
talks of the plotting traitors that Texas should, as a matter of course, 
secede, but they must first take with them all they could obtain 
from the general government, the delay in passing the ordinance being 
caused only by the desire to first secure this money, which this agent 
had been sent here to press through Wigfall and others in Congress, 
and upon the advices of their success being reported to Texas, the 
act of secession would promptly follow this twin robbery and con¬ 
spiracy. 

I happened to be present, in the crowded gallery of the Senate, 


THE BOY SPY. 


15 


when Senator Wigfall, of Texas, during a speech in reply to John¬ 
son, in an indirect and insinuating way, while glancing signifi¬ 
cantly toward Senator Johnson, quoted the celebrated words of 
Marmion: “Lord Angus, thou has lied.” This incident being dis¬ 
cussed at our table one day, at which Senator Johnson occupied the 
post of honor, I took a favorable opportunity to intimate to him 
that I was in possession of facts that would show' Mr. Wigfall to be 
not only a traitor, but that he was then scheming to first rob the 
government he had sworn to protect, and afterward intended to 
destroy, and in my boyish way suggested that the Senator should 
hurl the epithets back at him. 

I did not for a moment consider that I was betraying any con¬ 
fidence in thus telling of the traitorous schemes to which I had been 
an unwilling listener. 

Mr. Johnson seemed to be impressed with my statements, and for 
a while lost interest in his dinner. In his free and kindly way he was 
easily able to “ draw me out ” to his entire satisfaction, and secured 
from me the story with the necessary “authorities and references.”As 
he rose from the table he walked around to my seat, shaking my hand 
cordially, while he invited me to his room for a further conference. 

After that day, while I remained in Washington City, during the 
time preceding the inauguration of Mr. Lincoln, and for some weeks 
following, I became a welcome visitor at the Senator’s room, oscillating 
between the headquarters of the rebel conspirators at Brown’s and the 
private rooms of the leader of the Union cause, and thus was begun 
my first secret-service work. 

I had brought with me to Washington some letters from Mr. 
Scott and other railroad friends, and also enjoyed through this con¬ 
nection a personal acquaintance with “ Old dory to God,” as the 
Hon. John Covode was called during the war. This name origi¬ 
nated from a telegram which Mr. Covode wrote to a friend, in which 
he intended to convey the intelligence of a great Union victory; 
but in the excitement of his big, honest, loyal heart over a Union 
success, which in the early days was a rarity, he neglected to men¬ 
tion the important fact of the victory, and the telegram as received 
ill Philadelphia simply read: 

“To John W. Forney: 

* * * * “Glory to God. 


“John Covode.” 



He spelled God with a little g, Philadelphia with an F, hut he 
got there just the same. 

My days in the Capitol at that time were usually spent in the 
gallery of the Senate, where were to be seen and heard the great 
leaders on both sides. Some of the Southern Senators were making 
their farewell speeches, the words of which I, in my youthful inno¬ 
cence, tried vainly to reconcile with their action, as well as with 
the proceedings of a peace Congress, which was being held at Wil¬ 
lard’s old hall on F street. 

The evenings of these days I devoted to the observation of the 
operations of the Southern conspirators at the hotel, and watched 
with concern the preparations for the inauguration of Mr. Lincoln, 
who had secretly arrived in the city. 

In the course of my amateur work among the Southern leaders, 
it so happened that Mr. Covode and Senator Johnson had been brough t 
together, and they became mutually interested in my services. 

One day Mr. Covode said to me: “See here, young feller, you 
might do some good for the government in this way. I’ve talked 
with Johnson about you, and he says he’ll help to get you fixed up 
by the "War Department.” 

When I expressed a willingness to do anything, the old man 
said, in his blunt, outspoken way: 

“ Hold on now till I tell you about this thing first.” Then pro¬ 
ceeding to explain in his homely, honest words: 

“ There is a lot of money appropriated for secret service, and if 
you get onto that your pay will be mighty good; but,” he added, 
“it’s damned dangerous; for as sure as them fellers ketch you once 
they will hang"you, that’s sure as your born.” 

When I observed that I wasn’t born to be hanged, he said further, 
as he fumbled over some papers in his hand: 

“I don’t know about that either, because Scott writes me a let¬ 
ter here that says, f you are smart enough, but you have,’reading 
from the letter to refresh his memory, * unbounded but not well 
directed energy’.” Which I didn’t know whether to consider com¬ 
plimentary or otherwise. 

It was arranged that we should visit the Secretary of War to¬ 
gether, to consult in regard to this future service. We called on 
General Cameron, the Secretary, one morning, to whom I was intro- 


THE BOT SPY. 


17 


duced by Mr. Covode, who explained to the Secretary in a few words, 
in an undertone, what he deemed to be my qualifications and 
advantages for employment in the secret service. 

There were no civil-service rules in force at that time. The Sec¬ 
retary’s office was crowded with persons waiting an opportunity to 
present to him their claims. After looking around the room, the 
Secretary suggested that, as this was a matter he would like to 
talk over when he was not so busy, we had better call again. 

In a few days afterward I went alone to the old War Department 
Building, where I stood about for an hour or two, watching the crowd 
of office-seekers, anxious to serve their country under the new ad¬ 
ministration, but without getting an opportunity to get anywhere 
near the Secretary’s door. 

This same operation became with me a daily duty for quite a 
while. One morning I went earlier than usual, and met the Secre¬ 
tary as he passed along the corridor to his office, and bluntly accosted 
him, handing him some letters. I followed him into the room, and 
stood by the altar, or desk, with a couple of other penitents who 
were on the anxious bench, while he put on his spectacles and 
began to read the papers I had handed him. Turning to me, he said: 
“ Now I’m too busy to attend to this matter. I intendfto do something 
in this direction, but I’ve not had a chance to look it up; suppose you 
come—” Here I interrupted him and said: “ I’d like to go down to 
Montgomery and see what’s going on there.” This seemed to open 
a way out of a difficulty for the Secretary, and he at once said: 

“ That’s all right; you just do that, and let’s see what you can 
do, and I’ll fix your matter up with Covode.” Then turning to his 
desk he wrote something on the back of one of my papers in a hand¬ 
writing which, to say the least, was mighty peculiar; something 
which I have never been able to decipher; it was, however, an 
endorsement from the Secretary of War. 

When I showed the Secretary’s penmanship to Mr. Scott, sug¬ 
gesting to him that I thought it was a request for him to furnish me 
with passes to Montgomery, Alabama, and return, Scott appreciated 
the joke, and promptly furnished me the necessary documents, say¬ 
ing, laughingly. “ You needn’t be afraid to carry that paper along 
with you anywhere; there isn’t anybody that will be able to call it 
an incendiary document ” 


18 


THE BOY SPY. 


I transferred myself at once to the field of my observations from 
the United States Capital at Washington to that of the Confederate 
States of America, then forming at Montgomery, Alabama, travel¬ 
ing via Louisville, stopping a day to see the wonders of the Mam¬ 
moth Cave; thence, via' Chattanooga, Tennessee, and Augusta, 
Georgia, arriving late one night in Montgomery. 


CHAPTER IL 


/>N DUTY AS A SPY AT THE REBEL CAPITAL, MONTGOMERY, ALABAMA 
—LIVING IN SAME HOTEL WITH JEFF DAVIS AND HIS CABINET— 
CONSPIRATORS FROM WASHINGTON INTERVIEWED—BOUNTY 
OFFERED BY CONFEDERATES BEFORE A GUN WAS FIRED — FORT 
SUMTER AND FORT PICKENS. 

I was quartered at the Exchange Hotel, which was the head¬ 
quarters and home of the leading men of the new government then 
gathering from all parts of the South. Here I spent some days in 
pretty close companionship with these gentlemen, taking notes in a 
general way, and endeavoring to learn all I could in regard to their 
plans. 

I had learned, while skirmishing about Washington, to know at 
sight nearly all of the prominent people who were active in this 
movement, and perhaps the fact that I had been somewhat accus¬ 
tomed to being in their society, and being quite youthful gave me an 
assurance that enabled me to go about among them in a free and 
open way, without exciting any suspicion. 

There were among the guests, a recent arrival from Washington 
City, a gentleman of some apparent prominence, as I judged from 
the amount of attention he was receiving. 

I made it a point to look closely after him, and soon gathered 
the information that he had been a trusted employb of the Govern¬ 
ment, and at the same time had been secretly furnishing the rebel 
leaders, for some months, with information of the government's 
plans. He was at this time the bearer of important papers to the 
rebel government. This gentleman's name, which has escaped my 
memory in these twenty-five years, was placed upon record in the 
War Department at the time. 

Jeff Davis, who had been chosen President, and had but recently 
come from his Mississippi home to Montgomery, attended by a com¬ 
mittee of distinguished Southerners, who had been deputed to notify 
him of his election, lived at the same hotel, where I saw him fre¬ 
quently every day. • 

There were also to be seen in the hotel office, in the corridors, in 


SO THE BOY SPY. 

the barbers’ shops, and even in the bar-room, groups of animated, 
earnest, intensely earnest men, discussing the great “impending 
conflict/*’. 

I walked about the streets of the Confederate Capital with per¬ 
fect freedom, visiting any place of interest that I could find. 
Throughout the city there was not much in the way of enthusiasm; 
indeed, the fact that was particularly noticeable then was the 
apparent difference in this respect between the people at the hotel 
and the citizens. 

Of course there were meetings and speeches, with the usual 
brass-band accompaniment every evening, while, during the day, 
an occasional parade up and down the principal streets of the town, 
headed by the martial fife and drum, which were always played with 
delight and a great deal of energy by the colored boys. 

There was an absence of enthusiasm and excitement among the 
common people, which was a disappointment to those who had 
expected so much. 

The existence of an historical fact, which I have never seen 
printed, is, that before a gun had been fired by either party, there 
were posted on the walls of the Confederate Capital large handbills 
offering a “ bounty” to recruits to their army. 

In my walks about town my attention was attracted by a bill, 
posted on a fence, bearing in large letters the heading, 

BOUNTY. 

The word was at that time something entirely new to me, and as 
I was out in search of information, I walked up closer to learn its 
meaning, and was surprised at the information, as well as the advice 
the advertisement contained, which was to the effect that certain 
moneys would be paid all those who would enlist in a certain Ala¬ 
bama regiment. 

Lest there should be a disposition to challenge the correctness of 
this somewhat remarkable statement, I will mention now that this 
fact was reported to the War Department, and a copy of this bounty 
advertisement was also embodied in a letter that was intended to be 
a description of the scenes at Montgomery, in April, 1861 , during 
the firing on Sumter, which I wrote at the time and mailed secretly 
in the Montgomery Postoffice, addressed to Robert McKnight, then 


THE BOY SPY. 


21 


the editor of the Pittsburgh Chronicle , to which I, with an appre¬ 
hension of a possible Rebel censorship, neglected to attach my name. 
Mr. McKnight, the next time I saw him, laughingly asked me if I 
hadn't sent him such a letter, saying he had printed it, with com¬ 
ments, at the time, which, as nearly as I can remember, was between 
April 18th and 20th, 1861. 

This was probably among the first letters published from a “war 
correspondent,” written from the actual seat of war. 

Mr. Davis occupied a suit of rooms at the Exchange, on the left of 
the first corridor, and there were always congregated about his door 
groups of men, while others were constantly going and coming from 
his rooms. 

I was a constant attendant about this .door, and witnessed the 
many warm greetings of welcome that were so cordially extended 
to each new arrival as they reported to headquarters. 

It seemed odd to hear those people talk about the “ President,” 
but of course I had to meekly listen to their immense conceit about 
their “ government,” as well as their expressions of contempt and 
hatred for that to which but a short time before, when they had 
the control, they were so devotedly attached. 

In the same room with myself was a young fellow who had been 
at the school at West Point, from which he had resigned to enter the 
rebel service. He kept constantly talking to me about “ My State,” 
and the “plebians” of the North, but, as he was able to furnish me 
with some points, we became quite congenial friends and talked 
together, after going to bed, sometimes until long after midnight. 
I was, of course, when necessity or policy demanded it, one of the 
original secessionists. 

The attention of everybody both North and South was being 
directed to Fort Sumter, and a good deal of the war-talk we 
heard about the Rebel headquarters was in regard to that. 

This young fellow and I planned to go together to Charleston 
to see the ball open there, and, with this object in view, he set about 
to learn something of the plans of the President,” which kindness 
I duly appreciated. 

One day, while lounging about the hotel corridors, I learned 
from a conversation between a group of highly exuberant Southern 
gentlemen, which was being hilariously carried on, that President 


THE EOT SPY. 


Davis and his advisers had that day issued the necessary orders, or 
authority to General Beauregard, to commence firing on the Union 
flag at Fort Sumter the following day. 

These gentlemen, none of whose names I remember, excepting 
AVm. L. Yancey, were so intent upon their success in thus “precip¬ 
itating ” the rebellion, that they took no notice of the innocent boy 
who was apparently so intent at that moment upon some interesting 
item in the paper, but I quietly gathered in all they had to say to 
each other, and at the first opportunity set about planning to make 
use of this information; but here I experienced, at the beginningof 
my career as a spy, the same unfortunate conditions that had so 
often baffled me and interfered with my success in the months and 
-years following. 

Though reckless and almost foolish in my boyish adventures, I 
was sufficiently cautious and discreet to know that a telegram con¬ 
veying this news would not be permitted to go over the wires from 
Montgomery to Washington, and to have filed such a message 
would have subjected me to serious embarrassments. 

There being no cipher facilities arranged so early in the war, I 
was left entirely without resource, though I did entertain a project 
of going to a neighboring town and from there arrange to manipulate 
the key myself, and in this manner try to give the information, but 
I was forced to abandon this scheme on learning, which I did by 
hanging about the dingy little Montgomery telegraph office, that all 
their communications were relayed or repeated once or twice 
either at Augusta or Chattanooga and Charleston before reaching 
the North. 

I did the next best thing, however, hastily writing a letter to 
Washington, which I stealthily dropped into the postoffice, hurry¬ 
ing away lest the clerk should discover who had dropped a letter 
addressed to a foreign government without payment of additional 
postage. 

Of those yet living who were witnesses of the “ Great uprising 
of the North,” after the fall of Fort Sumter, none are likely ever 
to forget the scenes which followed so quickly upon this first attempt 
of the Southern fire-eaters to “ precipitate the Cotton States into 
the rebellion.” 

Solitary and alone I held my little indignation meeting in Mont- 


THE BOY SPY. 


23 

gomery, cne capital of the rebel government, where I was at the 
time, if not a stranger in a strange land, at least an enemy in a 
foreign country. When the news of Fort Sumter’s fall reached 
Montgomery it was bulletined “that every vestige of the hateful 
enemy has been gloriously driven from the soil of the pioneer Pal¬ 
metto State,” and I recall, with distinctness, that the universal com¬ 
ment then Avas: “We will next clean them out in the same way 
from Florida,” etc. 

I felt that, in having failed to get this information to Washing¬ 
ton in advance, I had neglected a great opportunity to do the gov¬ 
ernment an important service, but in this I was mistaken, as events 
subsequently proved that the authorities at Washington were pow¬ 
erless to prevent the bombardment that was anticipated. 

There was no person among that people to whom I dare talk, 
for fear of betraying myself by giving vent to my feelings, so 1 
walked wildly up and down the one main street of Montgomery in 
a manner that at any other time would have been considered eccen¬ 
tric, but, as every body was wild that day, my actions were not 
noticed. Feeling that I must blow off steam some way or I should 
bust, I continued my walk out on the railroad track beyond the out¬ 
skirts of the town, in the direction of Charleston. During my walk 
I met an old “Uncle,” whom, from the color of his skin, I knew to 
be a true friend of the government, and into the wide-awake ears 
of this old man I poured a wild, incendiary harangue about what 
would surely happen to this people. This was not a very sensible 
thing to do, either, at that time, but I just had to say something to 
somebody, and this was my only chance. After having thus exhausted 
my high pressure on the poor old man, who must have thought me 
crazy, I discovered that my legs were “ exhausted,” too, and turned 
my face wearily back toward the city. 

That night there were serenades and speeches, with the regular 
brass-band accompaniment impromptu processions up and down 
the main street, headed by the fife-and-drum music of the colored 
“ boys,” as all the “likely’’colored men were called down South at 
that time, even if they were forty years old. 

I had seen Jeff Davis once during the day, while in his room 
surrounded by a crowd of enthusiastic friends, and, though I did 
not have occasion to speak to “the President,” I was close enough 


THE BO7 SPY. 


to liim on the day he gave the command to lire Sumter, to have 
killed him on the spot, and I was about wild and crazy enough at 
the time to have made the attempt without once considering the 
consequences to myself, if there had occurred at the instant any 
immediate provocation. 

Mr. Davis’s manner and appearance always impressed me with 
a feeling of kindness and even admiration. In the years following 
it became my fate to have been near his person in disguise, fre¬ 
quently while in Eichmond, and I could at any time then have 
ended his career by sacrificing my own life, if the exigencies of the 
government had in my imagination required it. 

I took note of the fact that a greal deal was being said about 
what they would do next, at Fort Pickens, in Pensacola Harbor. 
To this point I directed my attention, determined that another 
such an affair as this at Charleston should not escape me. 

One night, shortly after I had reached Montgomery, when my 
West Point companion and I had retired for the night, but were 
yet talking over the great future of the South, as we did every 
night, he almost paralyzed me by saying, “Well;stranger, you talk 
all right, of course, but do you know that you remind me mightily 
of the fellows at the Point, who are all the time meddling about the 
affairs of our Southern States.” Fortunately for me, perhaps, the 
room was dark at the time, which enabled me the better to hide the 
embarrassment that day-light must have shown in my face and 
manner. After recovering my breath a little, I put on an indig¬ 
nant air and demanded a repetition of the remark. This served to 
allay any suspicions that he may have been entertaining, for the 
young fellow, in his gentlemanly and courteous manner, was at once 
profuse in his explanations, which gave me the time to collect my 
thoughts. I told him that I was the nephew of an English gentle¬ 
man, who lived away off in Western Texas, who owned any quantity 
of cattle and niggers; I was then on my way, from school at the 
North, to my Texas home, tarrying at Montgomery, cn route , to 
meet some friends. This was more than satisfactory to the young- 
man, who seemed to take especial pleasure after this in introducing 
me to any friends that we would come across while together so con¬ 
stantly in Montgomery. 

This mother tongue “ provincialism” was one of the greatest 


TEE BOY SPY. 


25 

difficulties that I encountered in these Southern excursions, though 
at the time of which I am now writing strangers were not scrutinized 
so closely as became the rule soon after, when martial law was 
everywhere in operation, and provost-marshals were exceedingly 
numerous. I had endeavored to bridle my tongue as far as possible. 
My plan to quiet this apprehension was to play the “ refugee” from 
Maryland, “my Maryland,” or else, if the circumstances and sur¬ 
roundings were better adapted to it, I was an English sympathizer 
who had but recently arrived in the country. The Maryland racket 
was, however, the most popular, and it was also the easiest worked, 
because I had another uncle living in Baltimore, whom I had fre¬ 
quently visited, and, as has been stated, I was born almost on the 
Maryland line of English stock. 

While in Montgomery it did not seem necessary to hang about 
the telegraph offices to obtain information. I availed myself how¬ 
ever of this “facility ” to learn something more definite about the 
programme they had laid out for Fort Pickens, in Pensacola Har¬ 
bor, to which, after the fall of fort Sumter, the attention of both 
the North and the South was being directed. 

The “ Government at Washington” which was at this time cut off 
from any communication with its officers at Pickens except by sea, 
had, after the manner of Major Anderson at Sumter, secretly 
withdrawn their little handful of troops, who were under the command 
of Lieutenant Slemmer, a native of Pennsylvania, step by step, as 
they were pressed by the arrival each day of detachments of quite fresh 
militia from the sovereign State of Florida, to Fort Barrancas first, 
then to Fort McRae, on the mainland, and from thence to Pickens, 
which is located on the extreme point of Santa Rosa Island, on the 
opposite side of the bay or harbor from Forts McRae and Barrancas. 

I was able to learn from the general character of its extensive 
telegraph correspondence, which was being carried on over the wires, 
that President Lincoln had in some way expressed, in the hearing 
of the secret agents of the rebel government (who were in Wash¬ 
ington and in constant communication with the conspirators at 
Montgomery) an earnest desire to reinforce Fort Pickens, with a view 
to holding possession of that one point in the “ Cotton State” that 
had seceded from the Union; and the Navy Department at Washing¬ 
ton, especially desiring to control the harbor and navy yards located 


2G 


THE BOY SPY. 


there, had, if I remember aright, already dispatched by water a small 
lleet to their aid, but which would require a week or ten days to reach 
Pensacola, they having to go around by the ocean to Key West and 
up the Gulf of Mexico, doubling the entire Peninsula of Florida. 

As I had left Washington some time before, and had not had any 
communication with the North while in Mongomery, all this 
information was derived entirely through Rebel sources, and more 
particularly by the noisy tongue of a telegraph sounder, which 
talked loud enough for me to hear whenever I chose to get within 
sound of its brazen voice. 

I was exceedingly anxious to get back North, that I might take 
some active part in the coming struggle, but fate decreed otherwise; 
and, instead of getting out of this tight place, it was my destiny to 
have been led still deeper into the mire. I was within a day’s 
travel of the beleagured little garrison at Fort Pickens, with a posi¬ 
tive knowledge that the government was coming to their assistence, 
and also the information that at the same time the Rebel govern¬ 
ment had some designs upon' them, the exact nature of which 1 
could not ascertain. 

In this emergency, while I do not believe that I felt it a duty, I 
am sure that I did think it would be a good thing for the fellows 
at Pickens to be informed of the intentions of both the govern¬ 
ments toward them, and as I could not then communicate with 
Secretary Cameron, at Washington, I concluded to take the matter 
in my own hands, and find out, if possible, just what was proposed, 
and endeavor to communicate with Secretary Cameron. 

By giving close attention to the guests at the hotel, who were 
mostly officials of the newly made government, I ascertained by 
mere accident that a cetain gentleman was at that moment getting 
ready to leave the hotel for the boat, on his way to Pensacola as a 
bearer of dispatches or as a commissioner — there were lots of com¬ 
missioners in those early days — to settle the status of affairs at that 
point. This circumstance decided my actions at once, and as I had 
seen enough of Montgomery, and was besides becoming a little uneasy 
about my status there, I concluded to accompany this commissioner 
and, if possible, anticipate him in bearing my own dispatch to Lieu¬ 
tenant Slemmer, so I shadowed the ambassador closely and walked 
up the gang plank at the same time he did; as I remember very 


TEE BOY SPY. 


well the plank was very springy and the ambassador of Jeff Davis 
and the secret agent of the Secretary of War kept step, and marked 
time on the gang plank, both bound for the same destination but 
on widely different errands. 


CHAPTER III. 


PENSACOLA, FLORIDA—IN REBEL LINES—FORT PICKENS—ADMIRAL 
PORTER AND THE NAVY. 

The sail down the Alabama river from Montgomery to Mobile 
was most agreeable. 

I do not now recollect any incident of the trip worthy of men¬ 
tion. I did not, of coure, obtrude myself upon our ambassador’s 
dignity, knowing that as long as the boat kept going he was not 
liable to escape from me. 

There were some ladies aboard, and to these the gallant captain of 
the boat introduced his distinguished passenger, and among them they 
made up a card party, which occupied their attention long after I 
had gone to my room to sleep and dream of my home and “ the 
girls I left behind me.” 

I became quite homesick that night, and would very much 
rather have been aboard a steamboat on the Mississippi river headed 
up stream than penned up in this queer-looking craft, loaded with 
rebels, which was carrying me, I imagined as I half slept, down to 
perdition. 

There was a steam music machine on the boat somewhere, called 
a calliope, which made the night and day both hideous. 

They played “ Home, Sweet Home,” among other selections, but 
even to my feelings, at that time, the musical expression was not 
exactly such as would bring tears to one’s eyes. 

The machine, however, served to rouse the lazy colored people 
all along the high banks of the river, who flocked to the shores like 
a lot of crows. 

We reached Mobile in due time, and my dignitary and his “ con¬ 
fidential companion,” as I might be permitted to term myself, may 
be found properly registered in the books of the Battle House at 
Mobile, some time in the latter part of April, 1861. 

I will mention how, also, that an account of this trip and its 
object was written on the blank letter-heads of this hotel, addressed 
in tv careless hand-writing to Mr. J. Covode, Washington, I). C., 
unsigned by myself, and secretly dropped into the postoffice at 


THE BOY SPY. 


Mobile. I imagined that Mobile being a large city and having 
several routes of communication with the North, my letter might, 
by some possibility, get through, and, strange to relate, it did, and 
was subsequently quoted by Mr. Covode in the Committee on the 
Conduct of War. 

I lost sight of my “ traveling companion ” while in Mobile. You 
know it would not have been either polite or discreet to have 
pressed my company too closely on an official character like this, so 
it happened that he left the hotel without consulting me, and I 
supposing, of course, that he had left for Pensacola, made my 
arrangements to follow. To reach Pensacola there was a big river 
or bay to cross from Mobile. When I got aboard the little boat, the 
first thing 1 did, of course, was to look quietly about for “my 
man.” He was not aboard, as I found after the boat had gotten out 
into the stream, when it was too late to turn back. 

An old stage coach or hack was at that time the only conveyance 
to Pensacola, except by water. The thing was piled full of human¬ 
ity inside and out—young and old men, who were fair representations 
of the different types of the Southern character, all of whom were 
bent on visiting the next battle-scene—then a point of great interest 
in the South since the curtain had been rung down at Sumter. 

They were all “feeling mighty good,” too, as they say down 
there; every blessed fellow seemed to be provided with an individual 
flask, and during the dreadfully tiresome drag of the old coach 
across the sandy and sometimes swampy roads of that part of Flor¬ 
ida and Alabama our party became quite hilarious. 

Among them was a prominent official of one of the rebel mili¬ 
tary companies, then located about Pensacola, who was quite dis¬ 
gusted at the tardiness of their “ Government ” in not moving at 
on^e on Fort Pickens. He and a fat old gentleman, who was more 
conservative, and defended the authorities, discussed the military 
situation at length during the trip; and as both had been over the 
ground at Pensacola, and were somewhat familiar with the situation, 
they unintentionally gave me in advance some interesting points to 
look up when we should reach there. Among other things, they 
talked about a “masked battery” of ten-inch Columbiads. Now, I 
didn't know at that time what a “masked battery” could be, and 
had no idea that ten-inch Columbiads meant big cannon that would 
throw a ball that measured ten inches in diameter. 


90 


THE BOY SPY. 


I had formed a plan of procedure in advance, which was to pre¬ 
tend, as at Montgomery, to be the nephew of an Englishman, on 
my way from school in the North to my Texas home, and was just 
stopping over at Pensacola to gratify my desire to see the “Yankees 
cleaned out” there. I had been carefully advised early in this 
undertaking not to attempt to gather information by asking ques¬ 
tions, but, as a rule, to let others do the talking, and to listen and 
confirm by observation, if possible. This was good advice, volun¬ 
teered by a discreet old man, who had bid me good-by at Washing¬ 
ton some weeks back; and that beautiful spring evening, as I was 
being driven right into the camps of the rebei army, accompanied 
by men who were the first real soldiers I had seen, I recalled with a 
distinctness almost painful the words of caution and advice which 
at that time I had scarcely heeded. 

When the old hack reached Pensacola all were somewhat toned 
down, and after a hearty supper and a hasty look around the out¬ 
side of the dirtylittle tavern at which we stopped, I went to bed, 
to sleep, perhaps to dream of home and friends two thousand miles 
away. The distance seemed to be increased ten-fold by the knowl¬ 
edge that the entire territory between me and home was encom¬ 
passed by a howling mob that would be only too glad to tear me to 
pieces, as a stray dog among a pack of bloodhounds, while the other 
path was the boundless ocean. 

The soldiers who in the early days were not so well disciplined 
as in after years, took possession of the hotel, at least all the down¬ 
stairs part of it, where there was liquor and eatables, and kept up 
such a terrific row that sleep was almost impossible. Early next 
morning I was out of my cot, and before breakfast I took a walk 
around the place. 

The town of Pensacola is situated on the low, sandy mainland, on 
the bay, and lies some distance from the navy yard, or that por¬ 
tion of Pensacola which is occupied by the government for the 
Forts Barrancas and McRae. This government reservation is 
quite extensive, including the beautiful bay, navy yard and grounds, 
with officers quarters, and shell roads on the beach for some dis¬ 
tance beyond the yard; on the further extremity were built Forts 
Barrancas and McRae, which were at this time in possession of the 
rebel soldiers. 


THE BOY SPY. 


SI 


Lieutenant Slemmer a short time previously moved his little force 
of regulars across the bay to Fort Pickens, which was on a spit or 
spur of Santa Rosa Island, almost immediately opposite, but I think 
about four miles distant. 

This sombre old Fort Pickens is built upon about as desolate 
and isolated a spot as will be found anywhere on the coast from 
Maine*to Texas, but viewed as it was by me that morning, from 
the camps of the rebels, standing behind their great masked batter¬ 
ies, in which were the immense ten-inch Columbiads, I felt from 
the bottom of my soul that I n£ver saw anything so beautiful as 
the old walls of the fort, on which the Stars and Strips were 
defiantly floating in the breeze, right in the face of their big guns, 
and in spite of all the big blustering talk I had listened to for so 
many days. 

How glad I was to see that flag there. I felt as if I could just 
jump and yell with delight, and then fly right over the bay, to get 
under its folds once more. I had not seen the flag since leaving 
Washington, and had heard of its surrender at Sumter in the 
hateful words of theRebels. I am not able to describe the feelings 
which came over me at this time, and after a lapse of twenty-five 
years, while I am writing about it, the same feelings come over me. 
Only those who have witnessed the picture of the Stars and Stripes 
floating over a fortress, viewed from the standpoint of an enemy's 
camp, can properly appreciate its beauty. All my homesickness and 
forebodings of evil vanished at the sight, and with redoubled 
energy I determined to discover and thwart any schemes that 
might be brewing in the Rebel camp to bring down that beautiful 
emblem. I became apprehensive lest I might be too late, and fear¬ 
ful that these immense Columbiads, if once they belched forth their 
ten-inch shells, would soon batter down the walls, and I determined 
that the presence of this masked battery must be made known to the 
Commandant at the Fort. It was upon this battery that the Rebels 
depended for success, as they had said it was erected secretly, and the 
big guns were mounted at night. Fort Pickens had not been built 
to resist an attack from the rear, as none such had ever been con¬ 
templated; and theRebel officers knowing the weakness of this inside 
oi the Fort, had erected their masked battery of great guns to play 
apon that particular point. They were all positive, too, that Lieu- 


32 


THE BOY SPY. 


tenant Slemmer and his men were in total ignorance of the existence 
of this battery, which was correct, as subsequently demonstrated. 

I became so much interested in the exciting and strange sur¬ 
roundings, in the very midst of which I found myself one morning at 
Pensacola, that I had almost forgotten about our commissioner, who 
must have left Mobile by way of the gulf in one of the old boats 
that plied between the two cities. Anyway, I had no further use for 
him now, as everything was right before my eyes, and I saw at once 
that they meant war. 

It was understood, in a general way of course, that all these great 
preparations opposite Fort Pickens was for the purpose of driving 
off the “ invaders” and capturing the old fort. That afternoon, 
after having tramped about over the sandy beach until I was thor¬ 
oughly fatigued, I sat down in the rear of some earthworks that 
were being constructed under the directions of some of their officers. 
After waiting for a favorable opportunity, I ventured to ask one of 
them if there wasn’t enough big cannon already mounted to bom¬ 
bard that fort over there, pointing toward Pickens. To which 
he replied curtly, “If you are around here when we begin the job 
you will find out all about that.” I did not press the inquiry further 
just then, but I kept my eyes and ears open, and made good use of 
my legs as well, and tramped about through that miserable, sandy, 
dirty camp till I became too tired to go further. 

The navy yard proper, which included the well-kept grounds 
around the officers’ quarters, about which were growing in beautiful 
luxurance the same tropical plants of that section, was between, or 
in rear, of the rebel batteries and the town of Pensacola. 

In my walks about the camps I strutted boldly through the open 
gates, before which stood an armed sentry, and walked leisurely 
about the beautiful grounds. I took occasion to try to talk to an old 
invalid sailor who had been left at the hospital at that point by some 
man-of-war. The conversation was not exactly of such a character 
as would invite one to prolong a visit in the place, as all I could get 
out from him was “Just mind what I tell ye, now, youngster, will 
you? The Yaller Jack is bound to clean out this whole damn place 
before very long; you better go home, and stay there, too.” After this 
pleasant conversation he hobbled off, without waiting for any further 
remarks from me. 


THE BOY SPY. 


S3 

There was a telegraph office at Pensacola, which I visited. I 
learned of a dispatch making some inquiry of the officials about the 
probability of “reducing” the fort. I didn’t exactly understand 
then what was meant by “ reducing ” a fort, and imagined for a 
while that it referred in some way to cutting down its proportions. 
On inquiry, liowevS*, I gathered its true import, and learned also, 
by way of illustrations from the lips of a Rebel officer, that ‘ ‘ now 
that Columbiad battery, which is masked, and has been built at 
nigln without the knowledge of the enemy, is- the machine that is 
going to do the v reducing/ or, if you like it better, demolishing of the 
fort, because,” said he, as he became enthusiastic, “ that battery 
is so planted that it is out of range of any guns there are at che fort, 
and it will work on the rear or weak side of the old fort, too.” 

This conversation was held at the “tavern” during the evening, 
after this blatant officer had refreshed himself after the day’s work. 
I ascertained that he had been an officer in the United States Army, 
and was of course familiar with the exact condition of the affairs at 
the Fort. 

Each day, as soon as I had had breakfast, I would start out on my 
long walks down past the navy yard, through and beyond the 
rebel earth works. There was not a single cannon pointed toward 
the fort or the ships, which were lying out beyond, that I did not 
personally inspect. 

I made a careful mental inventory of everything, and had the 
names of the regiments, and each officer commanding them, care¬ 
fully stowed away in my memory, with the expectation, in some way 
not yet quite clear, of sending the full details across that bay to the 
United States commander at Pickens. That I was not suspected 
at all, is probably due to the fact that at this same time visitors 
were of daily occurrance — ladies and gentlemen came like excursion 
parties from Mobile and other convenient points, as every body 
expected there would be just such scenes as had been witnessed at 
Charleston a few days previous. 

The earthworks, as will be understood, extended for quite a 
long distance on the beach and were intended also to oppose the 
entrance of hostile ships to the harbor, it being well understood 
that the fort could only receive their heavy supplies at the regular 
landing, or pier, which, as before stated, was on the inside of the bay 



u 


THE BOY SPY. 


or the weak wall of the fort. Any light supplies, as well as men 
and amunition, must necessarily be landed through the surf, on the 
outside of Santa Rosa Island. 

Fort McRae was an entirely round, turret-shaped old work, sit¬ 
uated at the extreme outer point. Next to it, and some distance 
inside, was Fort Barrancas, while all along the beach — in suitable 
locations — were “sand batteries” and the great masked battery. 

Here I saw for the first time piles of sand-bags laying one above 
the other, in tiers, like they now handle car-loads of wheat in Cali¬ 
fornia—wicker baskets filled with sand, which we used to see in the 
school-book pictures of the war with Mexico. 

No persons were allowed to approach the masked battery, the 
existence of which was ingeniously concealed from view by a dense 
growth, or thicket, something like sage-bush, that had not been dis¬ 
turbed by the excavations. 

Sentries were placed some distance from this, who warned all 
visitors to pass some distance to the rear, from which a good view could 
be had of the entire work. To better conceal this terrible battery, 
squads of soldiers were employed, diligently engaged in mounting 
guns on another little battery in full view of the officers at Pickens. 

Lieutenant Slemmer told me, when I saw him a few days after 
this, that he had kept an officer on the look-out continually, and 
saw all this work, and though they suspected that larger guns would 
be put into use, they had failed to discover any signs of them. 

I had formed an acquaintance with a young officer, I think of 
an Alabama company, in whose company I had visited some points 
that were not easily accessible to strangers. In this way, I got 
inside of “bomb proofs” and magazines, and went through Fort 
McRea, which was then being used as a guard-house or prison. 

With my newly-found friend, I went m bathing in the evenings, 
and was introduced by him to others, who had the privilege of 
using the boats, and we frequently took short sails about the bav, 
but always back of the navy yard, or between that and the town. 
Looking toward Pickens we could see at any and all times the soli¬ 
tary sentinel on the ramparts, and occasionally some signs of life 
about the “barn door” that faced toward us. The number of ves¬ 
sels outside was being increased by new arrivals occasionally, when 
some excitement would be created by the firing of salutes. 


\ 


THE BOY SPY. 


35 


One of the queer things, and that which seemed to interest 
the officers as well as every soldier in sight, was the display of 
signal flags at the fort, which would be answered by the ap¬ 
pearance of a string of bright little flags from the men-of-war, 
which were constantly dancing up and down on the swell, while 
at anchor a couple of miles outside. Even the colored boys 
and cooks would, at the appearance of this phenomena, neglect 
their fires and spoil a dinner perhaps, to watch, with an inte¬ 
rest that became contagious, the operation of this signaling. 
Many of them thought, no doubt, that this was an indication of 
the commencement of hostilities, and anxiously hoped to hear a 
gun next. 

There was some apprehension among the officers that one of the 
men-of-war might run past the batteries at night and destroy the 
navy yard and town. 

If there had been a signal officer on the ramparts of Fort 
Pickens with a good glass, advised of my presence on the sand¬ 
bank (with my subsequent familiarity with army signaling), it 
would have been not only possible, but entirely practicable, for me 
to have signaled by the mere movement of my arms, or perhaps 
fingers, the information that was so important that they should 
have. These additional war facilities did not come into use for a 
year after, when the necessity arose for it. 

There was loading with lumber at the pier at* Pensacola a large 
three-masted English sailing vessel to put to sea, some arrangement 
having been made with the authorities on both sides to permit her 
to go out. I had been figuring on a plan to get a letter over to the 
Fort secretly. It did not at first occur to me that it would be 
possible to cross myself with safety, and knowing that in passing 
out, this ship would have to run inclose by Fort Pickens, I set about 
to mature a plan to make use of this opportunity, and with this 
object in view I spent some time aboard the ship trying to make 
the acquaintance of someone. 

But I found this to be too uncertain, and too slow besides. The 
infernal Englishmen were openly hostile to the government. It 
was my daily custom to sit on a sandbank right in the rear of my 
Rebel officers’ camp, and, while not otherwise occupied, I would 
gaze by the hour toward that little band in the grim-looking old 



THE EOT ST*. 


S6 

prison of a fort, and wish and plan and pray that I could in some 
way have but one minute's talk with Lieutenant Slemmer. 

I felt that I must get word to him at any cost. I could not risk 
swimming, on account of the numerous sharks in the water, which 
were more to be feared than the harbor boats that patrolled up and 
down between the two forces. 

There were at Pansacola, as at all such places, small boats for hire 
to fishing and pleasure parties. I concluded that by hiring one ol 
these boats for a few days' fishing, with a colored boatman to accom¬ 
pany me, while ostensibly spending the day in sight of the guard- 
boats fishing—innocently fishing for suckers—to disarm any suspi¬ 
cion, I might have an opportunity, when it became dark, to crowd 
toward the opposite shore of Santa Rosa Island, some distance from 
Fort Pickens; and once on the island I could, under cover of night, 
steal down the shore to the Fort, and communicate with the officers, 
and, still under cover of the darkness, return to the mainland and 
make tracks through the swamps towards Mobile or New Orleans. 

In carrying out this plan, it was essential that I should find a 
colored boatman to pilot) and row me out on the bay, on whom I 
might safely trust my return and escape from the place. By way 
of reconnoitering, or practices, I hired such a boat for a couple of 
hours' pleasure, taking a companion with me, and in this way I 
looked over the ground—or, rather, water—and concluded that the 
scheme was feasitje, and determined to put it into execution as soon 
as possible. 

In anticipation of this sudden departure, I made a final visit to 
the camp of some of the friends, with whom I had become acquainted, 
that night, to say good-by. In this way my Montgomery commis¬ 
sioner's errand was accidentally brought to view. While talking 
about leaving, one of the officers said, “ You should wait a day or 
two and see the fun;" and when I exjDressed a doubt as to the early 
commencement of the ball, he continued, “ Oh, but there is a bearer 
of dispatches here from Montgomery, who says those Texas troops 
have been ordered here, and as soon as they get here from New 
Orleans the plan is for us all to go over on the island, away back, 
and, after the Columbiads have battered down the walls, we're going 
to walk right into the Fort." 

Here it was, then: the masked battery was to open the door and 


THE BOY SPY. 


37 


the troops were to approach from the island, and this must succeed, 
as the officers in the Fort certainly had no expectation of this sort of 
an attack from the rear, and could not resist it. 

The men must be prevented from landing on the island; I must 
go over that night to post them, and I got there. 


CHAPTER IV. 


CROSSING THE BAY TO FORT PICKENS, ETC. 

Strategy was another of the new military terms which I had 
heard used a great deal by these Rebel officers during their conver¬ 
sations among themselves and with their daily visitors and admirers. 
The general subject of conversation was in reference to the plans to 
“ reduce ” Fort Pickens, which persisted so defiantly in hoisting in 
their faces at every sunrise the Stars and Stripes, and which was 
only lowered at sunset with a salute from the guns of the Fort and 
the ships, to be again floated as surely as the sun rose the next 
morning and the guns boomed out on the morning air their good 
morning salute. 

This daily flaunting of the flag had became quite as irritating to 
these fellows as the red flag to a bull, every one of whom seemed to me 
to be impatient to take some sort of steps individually to at once end 
the war then and there and get home. In all their talks, to which I 
was an attentive listener during the several days that I spent in 
their camps, I do not now recall a single expression of doubt from 
any of them as to their final success in capturing the fort. With 
them it was only a question of time. The criticism or demonstra¬ 
tion which seemed to be most general among citizens as well as the 
military was, that the tardiness or delay in ordering the assault, 
upon the part of the Montgomery officials, was “outrageous.” But 
now that they had a knowledge of the recent arrival of the “ Com¬ 
missioner ”— whose title was changed on his arrival at the seat of 
Avar to that of “General” and “Bearer of Dispatches”—all hands 
seemed more happy and contented. 

It Avas well understood among the higher officers there that the 
plan of the authorities was, secretly, or under cover of night, to make 
a lodgement on the Island by the use of the shipping they had in 
the harbor, and, once securely established there, the masked battery 
Avould open upon the Aveak or unprotected side of the Fort, and open 
a breach through which the Rebel troops would be able to rush in 
and capture the little garrison, and “haul down the flag.” I had 
obtained full information of the enemy’s plans. 


THE BOY SPY. 


As I had so closely followed the course of events from Mont¬ 
gomery; had personally visited every fort and battery; had become 
familiar with the number and location of the troops, as well as with 
the character and calibre of every gun that was pointed at the flag 
on Pickens; and had, beside this — which was more important — 
secured valuable information as to the proposed surprise of that 
little garrison. 

My only desire was to get this information to our commander at 
Fort Pickens, for their own and the country’s good, coupled with a 
strong inclination to defeat these bombastic rebels. I had no thought 
of myself whatever, and did not, in my reckless enthusiasm, stop for 
a moment to consider that, in attempting to run the gauntlet of the 
harbor boats and the shore sentinels on both sides, I was risking my 
life as a spy. While I do not remember to have been inspired with 
any feelings of the “ lofty patriotism,” I am surely conscious of 
the fact that my motives were certainly unselfish and disinterested. 
That there was no mercenary motive, may be inferred from the 
simple fact that I have not in these twenty-five years ever claimed 
or received anything from the government in the way of pecuniary 
reward for this trip. 

I began at once to make practical application of the strategy, 
about which I had heard so much in the enemy ’s camp, and which 
Mr. Lossing, the historian, says: “ As an artifice or scheme for 
deceiving the enemy in war, is regarded as honorable, and which is 
seldom if ever applied without the aid of the scout or spy’s service.” 

A reference to a map of the northwestern part of Florida will, 
at a glance, indicate the relative positions of the Rebel and Union 
forces with far greater distinctness than I am able to describe, 
though, after an abscence of twenty-five years, every point is as 
firmly impressed on my mind as if it were but a week since I saw it 
all, and I venture the assertion that, if permitted to revisit the scenes 
in Florida, I could locate with exactness the ground occupied by 
every battery at that time. 

Of course it was out of the question to have attempted to cross 
the bay to Fort Pickens anyway near the batteries, or in proxmity 
to the navy yard, because that portion of the water lying within 
range of the guns was being very closely “outlooked ” all the time, 
both by the sentinels and officers with their glasses at each of the 


THE BOY SPY. 


V> 

Forts. They had nothing else to do, so put in the long hours scruti¬ 
nizing everything that made an appearance on the water. This part 
of the bay was also constantly patrolled by a number of guard or 
harbor boats, which were quite swift, well manned, and armed with 
what I think they called swivel guns, placed in the bow of the boat— 
a piece of artillery that may be best described as a cross between a 
Chesapeake bay duck gun and a howitzer. 

I think, too, there were torpedoes placed in the channel, which 
they did not want disturbed by anything smaller than a United 
States man-of-war, if any such should venture to run past their bat¬ 
teries. I was not apprehensive of becoming mixed up with any of 
these myself, because my route would necessarily be some distance 
away. 

The ships-of-war, which were anchored outside the harbor, had 
been detected by theRebel guard boats in their attempts to run their 
small muffled gigs, as they called them, close to the shore batteries 
on dark nights. On several occasions these nighthawks came so 
close to each other in their patrols that the whispered voices of each 
could be heard over the water. This naval outpost, or picket duty 
on the water, was conducted pretty much the same as is the usage 
on a dark night in the woods—both sides being too much scared to 
move or speak lest the other should get the first shot, and mutually 
rejoiced when the sound died away in the distance. 

The ships outside were being maneuvred or changed every day. 
Sometimes quite a fleet would be in sight, and the next morning 
half of them had disappeared. It was understood, of course, that, 
in attacking the fort, the men-of-war would at once come to the 
assistance of its garrison with their guns, but, if a battery could be 
placed on the island, the ships could be driven out of range of sup-- 
porting distance, and, beside this, a storm would necessitate their all 
getting out to sea, so their assistance would be quite conditional. 

This is why the government and naval officers especiallv desired 
not only to retain Fort Pickens, but as well to silence theRebel bat¬ 
teries opposite, and to secure and retain that most excellent harbor 
and navy yard on the gulf, so convenient for future operation 
against Mobile and Hew Orleans. 

M Y only hope was to cross to the Island, some six or eight miles 
«*rx>ve the Fort (Pickens) and nearly opposite the town of Pcusa- 


f rm boy spy. 




cola, whence, under cover of the night, I might crawl down the 
shore on the opposite side to the Fort. This scheme necessitated a 
good bit of boating, as it would be necessary to double the route so 
as to get back before daylight. In looking about for a boat, and a 
colored oarsman whom I could control or depend upon to get me 
over and back, and then keep quiet until I could get away toward 
New Orleans or Mobile, I selected a black young fellow of about 
my own age, and in whose good-natured countenance I thought I 
could discover a willingness to do anything he was told. From this 
chap I engaged a boat for a day's fishing, it being well understood 
at the time that no boats of any kind were permitted to be out after 
dark. I had, however, taken particular pains to let it be known at 
the boat-house, where the boats were usually-kept, that myself and 
a friend, who was well known there as a rebel above suspicion, were 
going together to take a boat for a lark, and they should not be at 
all uneasy if we tied up for the night some place above town. I 
had, of course, no intention of taking my friend along, and this 
was just a little bit of “strategy” to deceive the enemy. 

I had, in the hearing of a number of his comrades, directed the 
boatman to prepare enough bait and other little requirements for 
this trip to last us until late into the night. He was a jolly, good- 
natured, bare-footed, ragged fellow, the blackest I could find, and 
was tickled all to pieces with the taffy and little bit of money he 
got in advance, as well as with a prospect for something extra, if he 
should be detained very late that night. 

In an apparently indifferent way I also took occasion to mention 
at the house where I had been boarding, that I was obliged to leave 
for Texas, and made all my preparations accordingly, but proposed 
to have first a day's fishing in company with some friend, and might 
possibly spend the night with them. I didn't have any baggage to 
bother about, having merely stopped off while en route to Texas. 

When I got into that little boat that day, I doubt not that I 
looked as if I were desperately intent on having a day's fun and was 
fully equipped for handling any quantity of fish I had taken off 
my coat — the weather in Florida at that season being quite warm 
and pleasant—and as I sat in the stern sheets of the little boat, 
with a steering oar in my hand, dressed only in a collarless shirt, 
uants and shoes, with a greyish slouch hat tipped back on my head, 


43 


THE BOY SPY. 


I have no doubt that my appearance was at least sufficiently careless 
or indifferent to disarm any apprehensions that might rise as to the 
real object of the trip. 

It was necessary, in starting, to explain that my “companion" 
was detained, but would join us.at a friends house some distance 
above the town later in the afternoon, in the direction of which I as 
steersman pointed the bow of the boat, as we pulled out from the 
shore, bearing purposely in a direction leading farthest from the 
Island and the Fort. 

My recollection is, that it is about four miles across tie bay 
to the Island and six or eight miles down the bay to the outside 
point on which Fort Pickens is located. With the exception of this 
garrison, Santa Eosa may, in the language of the school-books, be 
called an uninhabited island. At the present time, however, Geron- 
imo and his band of murdering Apache Indians are, with their 
military guard, the only inhabitants of the desolate place, and they 
are prisoners. 

When we had gotten out from shore a good distance, we stopped 
for a while, just to try our luck, but' as it was not a satisfactory 
location, after a little delay, we moved further off, when we would 
again drop our little anchor, to go through the same motions and 
move out, just a little bit, almost imperceptibly to those on shore 
each time. 

Of course, my colored boy had no idea but that I really meant 
this fishing excursion for sport. He was full of fun and really 
enjoyed himself very much. I was uneasy, and imagined that every¬ 
body on shore had conspired to watch our little boat, which was 
drifting about aimlessly on the tide, a mile or so out from the rebel 
shore. On account of this apprehension, I was more careful to so 
direct our movements that suspicion would be disarmed, and, as far 
as practicable, I kept the bow of the boat pointed in the direction of 
Pensacola, actually backing out into the stream, when the tide 
would naturally keep us out. 

My object was to keep up this sort of an appearance all after¬ 
noon, and then toward dusk (as I had told the oarsman) we would 
land further up, where my friend was visiting, and where I had 
agreed to meet him. 

A race over the bay to Fort Pickens with a Eebel harbor boat 


THE BOY SPY. 


4* 

was out of the question, even with a mile of a start, because they 
were not only quite fast and well manned, but their little cannon 
were entirely “too sudden” and could soon overtake us. 

Did we catch any fish ? will be asked. No, this is not a fish 
story, and I was myself too intent upon watching the movements of 
all the little boats along shore to pay much attention to the fish; in 
this case I was the sucker myself, that was hunting a hole in the 
meshes of the net that I might escape. 

I had put the latest New York Herald in my coat pocket 
during the morning; this I got out and, as I sat in the stern sheets, I 
pretended in a careless way to become interested while the colored 
boy did the fishing. Along in the evening, about sundown, I saw 
with some alarm one of the little tug-boats come puffing around 
from the navy yard, and it seemed in my imagination that they 
were bearing directly toward us, as we were then far enough from 
the shore to have excited suspicion. To be prepared, I directed the 
boy to take the oars and we made a movement as if intending to 
return. 

The tug came within hailing distance and, without shutting off 
their noisy steam-exhaust, hallooed something which I inferred was 
the patrol officer’s notice that it was time to tie up. They passed on 
in to the pier at Pensacola, while we in the deepening twilight, 
while seemingly headed toward shore, were silently drifting with the 
tide further and further away. 

Being in the stern, with a steering oar in my hand, the colored 
> boy at the oars, with his face toward me and his back to the bow, 
he did not discover for quite a while through the now almost dark¬ 
ness that we were moving out to sea instead of going in to shore, 
as I had pretended. When he did get the bearings through his 
sluggish brain, he seemed all at once to have become awakened to a 
sense of the greatest fear. He stopped rowing abruptly and, looking 
about him in every direction, his eyes seemed to become almost wild 
vuth fright, showing a good deal of white through the darkness 
xHt seemed now to have come down upon us all at once; he said, 
fcusfcJv, as he attempted to turn the boat around with one oar: 
“ Hood Lawd, it’s dark, and all niggers got to be in doors ’fore this. 
Ise gwine home, boss.” When I tried to laugh him out of his ter¬ 
ror; and explained that I had told his master at the pier that I was 


u 


THE BOY SPY. 


going to keep him out late, it did not satisfy him. He insisted on 
going straight back over the course I had been leading all day. The 
poor slave said: ‘ ‘ Boss, its de law, any nigger caught out at night 

gets thirty-nine lashes; and if dese soger-masters knowed I was over 
on this side, dey kill me, suah.” 

We were then probably a mile off the Island shore—the darkness 
and distance had concealed us from the rebel shore, and I must not, 
would not return then. I tried every way to prevail upon this poor 
ignorant slave to keep on rowing; that I would steer him to “my 
friend’s house,” which, in my mind’s eye, had been Fort Pickens, 
but he wouldn’t have it so; he knew, he said, “there wasn’t 
nobody’s house up on dat shore.” 

Under the circumstances, what could I do? He had the oars in 
his hands but wouldn’t use them, while I, with my steering-oar, was 
helpless. I was within but a little distance of the shore that I had 
looked upon so often and so wistfully from the rebel side, yet this 
fellow could prevent my reaching it; and in attempting to force 
him to do my bidding I risked making a disturbance which would 
speedily bring the guard-boats to the spot. I do not claim that it 
was a brave act at all, but, realizing at the time that I must take com¬ 
mand of the boat, I quietly reached for a stilletto, or dirk knife, 
which I had bought in anticipation of having to use or show as a 
quiet sort of weapon where any noises were to be avoided. With 
this bright steel blade pointing at the now terrified darkey, I ordered 
him to row, and if he dared take a hand off the oar I’d cut him and 
feed the pieces to the sharks in the bay. 

I don’t know what I should have done if he had resisted, but I 
think that at the moment I would have become a murderer, 
and, if necessary, have used not only the knife, but also the pistol, 
which I had by me. 

Seeing my determination, and especially the knife, the “contra 
band ” laid back on his oars and pulled for the shore lustily, looking 
neither to the right nor the left, but keeping both his white eyes 
riveted on my dagger and pistol. 

I comforted him a little, because, you see, I’d got to get back, and 
it was necessary that he should keep still until I got away. I knew he 
would do this, because it would certainly have been punishment fcr 
himself to have admitted that lie had been over to the Yankees, 


» 


THE BOY SPY. 




Now that I had committed an overt act in this attempt to 
reach the enemy, the die was cast for me, and I must carry it 
through. Imagine for a moment my feelings when the boy stopped 
rowing suddenly and, craning his.neck over to the water in a listen¬ 
ing attitude, said, huskily, “Boss, dats dem; dats de boat.” 

Great heavens, we were yet a long distance out from the Island, 
having been gradually working down instead of going directly over. 
My first impulse was to row madly for the shore, but the darkey knew 
better than I, when he said, “Best keep still, and don’t talk, boss.” 
Listening again, I could hear the voices distinctly, and it seemed to 
me through the darkness that they were right upon us; we floated 
quietly as a log in the water for a few terrible moments of suspense, 
I took off my shoes and stockings and propared to jump overboard 
and swim for the shore, if we came to close quarters. If they cap¬ 
tured me I’d be hung, while the slave’s life was safe, because he 
was valued at about $ 1 , 800 . 

Resuming his oar,the boy said, “That’s at the navy yard.” “Why,” 
I said, “are we near the navy yard?” “No, boss; but you can hear 
people talkin’ a mighty long ways at night; we niggers is used to 
hearin’ ’em; we git chased in every night.” After this scare I 
“hugged” the shore pretty close; it seemed to me then to have 
been a long ways down that sandy beach, because of the suspense and 
uncertainty, perhaps. We stole along quietly, not knowing but 
that some trap might have been set along the Island to catch any 
contrabands who might want to run off from their masters, and 
again I did not know but what the rebels themselves might have a 
guard out there; and if I did see any persons, how was I to be sure 
that they were friends from Fort Pickens. 

There are some sensations that can better be imagined than 
described. To add to my discomfort on that most eventful night 
in my life, I witnessed for the first time the strange, weird phe¬ 
nomenon of the phosphorescent water, which is, I believe, quite com¬ 
mon in the South. To me, at this time, jt had almost a super¬ 
natural appearance. 

While gliding along smoothly between life and death, my nerves 
strung to the utmost tension, suddenly I noticed that the oars, as 
they were lifted from the water, were covered with a strange gleam 
and that the water into which I was drifting had turned to molten 


46 


THE BOY SPY. 


lead, without flame; and as we went along now quite rapidly, there was 
left in our wake a long, winding, wiggling, fiery serpent which, to 
my heated imagination, seemed to be a machination of the devil and 
his imps to illuminate our path for the benefit of his friends—the 
rebels. 

If a picture could be made of this scene, which, I may say, w T as 
dramatic, it should represent our dingy little boat moving along a 
desolate shore in the darkness and solitude of a midnight in Florida; 
the black oarsman, with open mouth, the whites of his eyes showing 
most conspicuously, as he twisted his head around to look over the 
water in the direction of theBebels. I sat in the stern of the boat, 
dressed in a slouch hat and open shirt, steering-oar in hand, look¬ 
ing back and around in a puzzled way at the glimmering will-o’- 
the-wisp trail in our wake. The distant background would show 
the grim walls of Fort Pickens, with a few vessels riding at anchor 
beyond. 

On the other side would be the outlines of the Rebel batteries, 
with their sentries, while on the water, the guard or harbor boats. 

My colored boatman, however, did not pay any attention to this 
play of light about our boat; grimly he dipped and lifted the oars, 
the blades covered with a peculiar yellowish light, while the water, 
as it dropped back into the sea, splashed and sparkled as I had seen 
molten metal in the molds of the foundries at home. In reply to 
my hnshed expression of surprise, the boatman said: “ 0, dat ain’t 
nothin’; it’s the fire out of some of dem big guns, I’se lookin’ aftah.” 

We silently crept along in this halo of light, during which time 
I took the opportunity to explain to my boatman that I was a 
Yankee soldier, going to the Fort to see my friends. The moment 
that fellow was assured of my true character his whole nature 
seemed changed, and, instead of the cowering, terrified slave, unAvill- 
ingly doing the bidding of a master, he became a wdde-awake, ener¬ 
getic friend, most anxious to do me all the service possible. I have 
forgotten the faithful boy’s name, but I hope some day to revisit 
these scenes and shall look up his history. 

Great Scott! While we were talking in this way, we were startled 
by the sound of oars regularly beating in a muffled way, and which 
we knew to our horror were coming in our direction. Could it be 
possible that we were to be baffled at last ? The boy shifted his oars 


THIS BOY SPY. 


one by one into the boat, laid his head over the water for a moment, 
when he whispered, “ Dats a barge. ” I did not know what a “ barge” 
was, while he explained that the sounds of rowing we were hearing 
eame from a large, regular crew of disciplined boatmen in a big 
boat called a barge. 

I judged that we could not be far from Pickens, but how could 
I .tell whether the approaching boat contained our friends or our 
enemies. We all knew that the boats of both parties were engaged 
in prowling about every dark night. I had heard, while in the 
Pebelcamps, that it was the only diversion they had, and volunteers 
for each night's adventure were numerous. 

We kept “hugging the Island” pretty tight, and, as the sounds 
grew closer and more distinct as they came nearer and nearer, I 
again prepared to jump overboard and swim for the island. 

As they came closer, I heard the suppressed voices, and was able 
to catch something like an order addressed to “Coxswain,” which 
was the only word I could make out — that was enough, however. 
I knew that a coxswain w^as only to be found in an armed boat, and, 
of course, I believed they must be from the navy yard. 

I slipped off my shoes and quietly dropped over the side of the 
boat into the water, being mighty careful, too, that the boat should 
be between me and the sounds, which were now quite distinct. 

The boatman laid down in the bottom of the boat while I held on 
by both hands and paddled or towed it toward shore. Suddenly, as 
if a curtain had been raised, the barge, like a picture on the screen 
of a magic lantern, appeared and faded away, thank the Lord, some 
distance out from us, and the crew were rowing silently but swiftly 
in the direction from which we had just come. 

I crawled back into the boat, niv extremities dripping, and with 
reckless determination ordered the fellow to row right straight 
ahead. I was sick of this miserable agony of suspense and would 
end it, even if we ran into a man-of war. 

The boatman expressed the opinion that the boat from which 
we had been concealing ourselves was from the Fort, or belonged to 
the shipping outside, and I afterward learned that he'was correct. 

When we got a little further down the island shore, voices were 
again heard, this time from the land. Now I was sure we w r ere all 
right, but I kept along quietly and smoothly until we were in sight 


tee nor spy. 


48 

of tlie old fort. I could now see objects moving about on the 
ground near the fort. We crept up still closer, and seeing a group of 
three persons standing together, a little ways back from the water, 
I rose to my feet and was about to hail them when we heard oars 
again from the outside. 

I sat dowm again and begged the poor fellow to row for his life, 
which he did with a hearty good will; w r e then passed, without a 
challenge, a sentinel on the beach, and actually rode right up to the 
guard on the pier of the fort, and myself called their attention to 
our little boat. 

A sergeant, who was within hearing, quickly ran up to the water’s 
edge and roughly called a “ halt,” demanding to know our busi¬ 
ness; to which I replied: “ I want to see Lieutenant Slemmer.” 
We drew in shore; the sergeant took hold of the bow-string of our 
boat, and directed a soldier near by to call the officer of the guard, 
which was done in the most approved West Point style. All the 
same, however, I had gotten through their lines without a challenge, 
and if I had* been bent on torpedo or dynamite business, it would 
have been possible that night to have surprised the garrison. 

While waiting there, the old sergeant, who seemed to be very 
much incensed at my cheekiness, in running by his sentries, plied 
us with questions. 

Pretty soon we were landed on the pier, and then I stood right 
under the gloomy shadow of the walls of Fort Pickens, talking with 
a young officer in the uniform of the United States service, and 
wearing the red sash of the officer of the day. 

This young officer, whose name I have forgotten, received me 
cordially, and ordered the sergeant to take good care of my boat¬ 
man. My idea had been, all along, to communicate with Lieutenant 
Slemmer, whom we had heard of in connection with the occupation 
of the Fort, and probably, also, because I had heard he was a Pennsyl¬ 
vanian, I imagined I should feel more freedom with him. 

The officer of the day, to whom I expressed a desire to see Lieu¬ 
tenant Slemmer, said: “Certainly, sir, certainly. Will you please 
give me your name?” I merely said: “I am from Pennsylvania, 
and am going back soon, and wanted to tell him some news.” The 
officer swung himself around and called to another sergeant “to 
make this gentleman as comfortable as possible till I return,” which 


THE BOY SPY. 


49 


was a polite wav of saying “don't let that fellow get away till I get 
back.” He disappeared inside the cave-like entrance to the Fort. 

Very soon two officers came out, to whom I was politely intro¬ 
duced as a young man from the other side to see Lieutenant Slem- 
mer—the officer of the day explaining to me that Lieutenant Slemmer 
would be out just as soon as he could dress. 

It was late at night, and they had all been sleeping in peace and 
security inside the Fort, while I was getting down the bay. During 
this interim it will be noted that not one of these officers had 
asked me a question. Though their curiosity was no doubt excited, 
they were all gentlemanly enough to believe that my business was of 
a private character with Lieutenant Slemmer alone. 

It appears that the Fork had been reinforced, probably about the 
time that the attempt was made to reinforce Sumter, and at this 
time Lieutenant Slemmer was not in command at Pickens. 

During the wait and while we were talking about the war 
prospects, I incidentally mentioned something about Sumter's fall; 
this was news, sad news to the little group of officers, and for a 
moment seemed to stagger them. When one of them expressed a 
mild doubt, thinking my information was from rebel sources, the 
other said: 

“Oh, yes, it s true; it couldn't be otherwise.” When I gave 
them about the date, they all recalled an unusual commotion and 
firing of salutes by the rebels over the bay, which they did not 
understand at the time, and this news explained.. 

It soon became known in the fort that they had a visitor with 
great news, and every blessed officer must have gotten out of bed to 
come outside and see me. I wondered at the time why I wasn't 
invited inside, though I could not have been more courteously 
treated than I was. It was quite a long time before Lieutenant 
Slemmer made an appearance, and when he approached me and 
was introduced by the officer of the day with “ This is Lieutenant 
Slemmer,” I looked up in .surprise to see a tall, slim man, wearing 
glasses and looking for all the world like a Presbyterian preacher. 
He was the most distant, dignified fellow in the lot, and my first 
impressions were not at all favorable. 

However, I briefly explained my business, and told him of the 
masked batteries and the proposed attack from the island. Without 


50 


THE BOY SPY. 


a word of thanks, or even a reply, he turned and told one or the 
officers, who had stood aside to permit us to talk privately, to call 
Captain Glitz; and while he was doing this Mr. Slemmer stood by me 
with his arms folded—the only words he spoke were: “ Oh, that’s it." 

Soon Captain Clitz, who was a large, rather portly officer, ap¬ 
proached, in company with my officer, and, without waiting for an 
introduction, he walked up to me with his hand out, smilingly say¬ 
ing, “ Ah, how do you do?” and, turning to Slemmer, he said, “ Mr. 
Slemmer, Fm very glad your friend called to see us.” 

There was a long, earnest talk on the wharf that night, which 
was listened to and participated in by all the group of officers. Lieu¬ 
tenant Slemmer—after Captain Clitz’s greeting—said: “ This is 
Captain Clitz, the commander here now.” And to him all my com¬ 
munications were directed. • 

I was, of course, questioned and cross-questioned in regard to 
every point of detail which could be of interest to them, and I believe 
I was able to satisfy them on every point. 

I had understood, and believed it true, that General Winfield 
Scott had joined the rebels, and when I mentioned, this among the 
other items of news, my young officer of the day spoke up quickly, 
saying: “Oh, no, I can’t believe that. General Scott may be dead, 
but he is not a traitor.” 

In comparison with Lieutenant Slemmer’s dignified bearing, 
Captain Clitz’s kindness and cordiality to me that night will ever be 
remembered with feelings of profound gratitude. While I was thus 
talking to the officers, the sergeant and his detail of men were busily 
engaged in questioning my colored boy, and from him they learned 
the story of our trip. 

The sergeant was brought to task roundly, by the officer of the 
day, for the failure of his sentinel up on the beach to halt our boat 
before getting so close to the pier. His explanation was that they 
saw us but supposed it was the boat belonging to the garrison. 

How long I should have been detained on that old pier, under 
the shadow of the walls of the fort, entertaining those officers, is 
uncertain, had I not had before me, like a spectre, the remembrance 
of the rebel sentries and guard-boats, that I must again run through 
to get back in safety. One of the officers very kindly proposed that 
they would man one of their boats and convey us as far up the beach 

) 


THE BOY SPY. 


51 


as they could go, and thereby relieve us of the tiresome pull on the oars. 
While this was being arranged, I gave to Lieutenant Slemmer a 
more detailed account of the honors that were being paid to him in 
the North, in connection with Major Anderson, for his bravery in 
saving Pickens. And I also told him about the attentions which 
were being showered upon his wife, who, it seems, had been per¬ 
mitted to pass through the Eebel lines to her home in the North 
soon after his moving into Fort Pickens. 

To Mrs. Slemmer, it seems, was due some of the credit and glory 
of this movement. 

After receiving from Captain Clitz his hearty acknowledgment, 
and a farewell shake-hands from all the officers, I got aboard the 
well-manned barge for a return voyage, our little boat being towed 
in the rear. 

Getting into the boat seemed to bring to mind the shipping out¬ 
side, and I incidentally asked if any of their boats might be going 
to Mobile soon, thinking that would save me the dangerous jaunt 
over the swamps. I had no fears but that I should land all right at 
Pensacola, but I did feel some apprehension about my boy being 
able to avert the questions that I knew he would be asked on his 
return. 

Captain Clitz spoke up from the end of the pier, “ There are 
no boats likely to go to Mobile, but one of the transports will return 
to New York soon; would you prefer to go that way?” 

After a little explanation, it was settled that I should take the 
ship home, and my colored boy went back alone—at that time they 
were not taking care of contrabands—and I was rowed out to the 
shipping, and that night slept sweetly in a hammock on board Cap¬ 
tain Porter’s ship, the Powhattan. 


CHAPTER V. 

REBEL NEWSPAPERS—ON ADMIRAL PORTER’S SHIP. 

While numerous newspaper attacks were being printed in the 
chivalrous press of the South concerning a defenseless boy who had 
succeeded, unaided and alone, in thwarting their plans to compel 
the surrender of Port Pickens, I, in blissful ignorance of it all, was 
quietly experiencing the daily routine life aboard the blockading 
war ship, which was anchored in full view of the Rebel batteries 
through which I had been scouting but a few days previously. 

I was, of course, something new and fresh on board the ship, 
and the way those chaps went for me was peculiar. 

Did you ever try to get into a hammock? I mean a real ham¬ 
mock—one of those made out of canvas cloth, which, rolled up—or 
slung, I think they call it—looks like a big pudding. 

I was put in charge of one of the petty officers, as they call them 
aboard a ship, who correspond to the non-commissioned officers 
of the army. My particular guardian was, I believe, the ship- 
chandler, an old salt who had charge of a little den of a room, 
somewhere between decks, which was crammed full of lamps or 
candles. 

They were crowded with men and officers aboard the Powhattan 
at that time, so I had to turn in with this mess. I was given a ham¬ 
mock—a nice, clean lot of bedding was bundled up inside; it had a 
number painted on it, to which my attention was carefully called; 
then I was shown the corresponding number on deck where that 
particular hammock fitted in like a chink in a log-house, and 
where, I was told, it had to be placed at a certain “ bell,” or wh™ 
the boatswain would sing out a certain call. 

When the time came to go for the hammocks the first night, I 
followed my leader, shouldered the bag, and marched down in line 
with the rest. I found afterward the most difficult thing to learn 
about the navy is to get into a hammock, stretched above your head, 
and the next difficult thing is to stay in it, while the third trouble 
is to get out pf it without lighting on your head. 

My old guardian was bu y somewhere with his lights, and when 


THE BOY SPY, 


53 


i he signal came to turn in, every man of that immense crowd seemed 
to disappear, like so many prairie dogs into their holes, leaving me 
standing alone on the deck under my hammock. Then the petty 
officer, in his deep, bass voice, said something to me about clearing 
that deck. I made a jump for the thing, and hung half way across 
it, as if I were in a swing, able to get neither one way or the other— 
the hammock would move every time Fd move. Lots of bare heads 
were sticking out over the hammocks, offering advice of all sorts; 
one chap proposed to give me a leg, which I gratefully accepted, 
when he lifted me so quickly that I toppled over the other side of the 
hammock on to the floor, where I lay saying my evening prayers, 
while the whole lot of crows in the roosts above laughed at my pre¬ 
dicament. The show was beginning to create so much noise down 
below that the fellow with the big voice was compelled to interfere 
and put a stop to it, which he did by ordering one of the men to 
hold my horse while I got aboard. 

He kindly explained to me the modus operandi of getting into a 
slung hammock, which was, as we used to say in tactics, in one time 
and three motions ; first, grab the thing in a certain way with two 
hands, put one foot in first, and then deftly lift the body up and 
drop in ; once there, the difficulty was not over, as it required 
some practice to keep balanced while asleep, especially to a lands¬ 
man like myself. I was cautioned to part my hair in the middle, 
and lie there as stiff as a corpse. 

It was great fun for the sailors of that mess. In the morning, 
after a fair night’s rest, I was awakened by the man-of-war's reveille, 
and literally tumbled out of the hammock, landing on all fours on 
deck, for the thing was as hard to get out of as it was to get into. 
But now the sailors, who had so much fun at my expense the night 
before, showed the greatest kindness and did what they could to 
teach me to strap or lash it up, and I was ready to take up my bed 
and walk with the rest of them, and stored it away while it did 
not yet seem to be daylight. 

I was invited to the best mess for breakfast, which I was able to 
enjoy very much, and I spent the greater portion of the day on the 
big wheel-house of the ship, pointing out to the officers the loca¬ 
tion of the different batteries in the rebel line. The officers were 
quite courteous and kind, and, as may be imagined, listened 


THE BO 7 SPY. 


U 

with the greatest eagerness to the news which I was able to give 
them. The New York Herald, which was the only thing in the 
shape of “ papers” that I had brought with me, was eagerly read, 
the officers almost quarreling for its possession. It was finally 
settled by their cutting it up and dividing the pieces around. 

The Powhattan was one of the largest vessels of the old-fashioned 
side-wheel class, and at that time was literally bristling with her 
armour, having been hurriedly fitted out at Brooklyn Navy Yard 
at about the same time the other vessels’sailed to the intended relief 
of Sumter. 

An old salt gave me his account of their trip out, which, as 
nearly as I can recollect, was something like this: 

“We had just returned from a cruise, ye know, to China, and 
wanted to stay home a bit, because the Engineer Board condemned 
one of our bilers as dangerous, so, of course, no one aboard thought 
of going to sea again in her. Well, by thunder, one night they sent 
a draft of men aboard, and the next morning we were steaming out 
somewhere—we all thought to some other yard. 

“ The officers had what they called sealed orders, not to be opened 
till we wei;e outside, don't you know. That black-whiskered chap" 
—pointing with his thumb toward Captain Porter's cabin—“ was 
aboard, and we all thought he was our sky pilot, as he was dressed 
just like a parson or chaplain; but when we got out, and the orders 
were opened, he had changed his black duds, and, by gad, he took 
us in tow, just like a pirate king, and fetched us all down to this 
blasted hole to die of Yaller Jack. 

‘ * On the voyage down, every man of us was worked to death; day 
and night, all hands were going, unpacking boxes of arms that had 
been smuggled aboard, and them brass things you see back of tlio 
purser’s f cow-house'"—as he called the wheel-house—“we boxed up 
like dead men in coffins. Well, some of the men swore we were 
turned pirates; and a lot more of us was dead sure we were going 
out as a privateer for Jeff Davis. You see the sealed orders was to 
Captain Porter, and he had just come aboard at night, and they say 
he came right over from Washington City that same day, and, of 
course, he knew what was up, but no one else did. 

“We fount/ out, though, after that. The plan for us was to run 
down and go right straight ahead into the harbor, past the Fort ~ 1 


THE BOY SPY. 


55 


them Rebel Batteries. If we was inside once, we could drive them 
off and get the navy yard, you know, and they couldn't get onto the 
Island, don't you know. Well, when we got near Pensacola, what 
did they do but begin to burn some soft English coal, what was 
stored aboard, so's to make a black smoke, don't you see, and make 
them Rebels believe we were an Englishman going to Pensacola. 
Well, Porter was on hand, you bet, and every other fellow was on 
hand, too, and we were going to run right straight by the denied 
Batteries, without stopping or showing our colors; but the ‘ Old Man,' 
as we termed the admiral, or Senior Officer Alden, who had preceded 
us, as soon as we came up signaled to drop anchor; and the Lord only 
knows how long we will stay, if that condemned boiler don't bust. 

“ The old black-whiskered parson was mad, because he didn't get 
to go ahead, and he mopes in his den all the time, just like a bear 
with a sore head, cross at us all, as if we was to blame." 

Rear-Admiral David D. Porter was, at that time, ranking as a 
lieutenant in the navy, though he had been selected specially by 
Mr. Lincoln to command the Powhattan on this relief expedition. 
As I saw him daily aboard his ship, he appeared, to my eyes, to be a 
hearty, blustering, handsome naval officer, in the prime of life, 
wearing a full, black beard, which, with his sharp eyes and com¬ 
manding presence, impressed me with the idea that the old tar had 
suggested, as being a model jDirate chief. 

Those who have not been aboard a man-of-war while in com¬ 
mission and engaged in actual sea service, and have formed their 
impressions from casual visits to a ship in port, would scarcely 
realize the changed condition of affairs. The captain is a little 
king, with absolute power, and lives in great style, all by himself, 
in his beautiful den of a cabin, at the extreme aft-end of the ship, 
lie never comes forward, I believe, and walks only on one side of 
the deck. I think he doesn't permit anyone to approach his high¬ 
ness, except through the regular channels. 

He may be a good fellow ashore and will eat and drink with, you 
at the hotel bars, like any ordinary bit of humanity; but dear me, 
aboard his ship he is a holy terror. 

Not being an enlisted man myself, and only a sort of a refugee 
aboard ship, wholly unacquainted with the new order of tilings, I 
was constantly doing “nothing or other that interfered with th3 


rules, and, a* a consequence, was an object of disgust to the minor 
officers and* I suspect, a source of amusement to a great many 
others. 

“Naval officers, I understand, never like to have a civilian aboard 
their ships, probably because they are not amenable to the strict 
discipline, and another reason is, that a common landsman does not 
pay that homage and respect to their rank that is exacted of the 
seaman. 

As I waa promenading up and down the deck the first morning, 
an officer, whom I was told was Lieutenant Perry, the executive officer, 
sent one of the smartly-dressed marines to me, who approached 
pleasantly and said: 

“ The executive officer directs that you will please walk on the 
port side ( f the deck.” Well, I looked at my feet, then at the 
grinning marine, and asked him what was the matter. I didn’t 
know there* was such a thing as a port side of a deck; but he 
explained that the one little place where I had been taking my 
morning ai* was reserved exclusively for the captain of the ship. 

The captain sent his orderly to escort me to his presence in his 
cabin; the marine was, of course, all fixed up with his natty uniform, 
white-crossed belts, and little sword, and as we approached the lion’s 
den, he knocked as if he were afraid somebody might hear him, and 
when a griff voice within sang out “Come!” he stiffened up as 
if he had heard an order to “present”; then swinging open the 
door, swung around briskly and saluted; and before he could say his 
little speech, the captain spoke up. 

“ Tha* Avill do. Orderly,” when he went through the same motions 
as when ^e entered, and left me alone with the bear. 

The captain astonished me by reaching for my hand, and, gently 
pushing me over to a huge sofa, sat down beside me, and began to 
talk in a most cordial manner about my adventure at Montgomery 
and Pei-sacola, which lasted quite a little while, and ended with an 
invitatii n to take something, which I was forced to decline. 

My interview with the captain seemed to have a wonderful 
influence not only on the minds, but over the actions as well, 
of the pett/ officers and sailors, who had been guying me so 
mercilessly every hour of my stay among them. T was at once 
■ with the utmost consideration by everybody or 1 wd.and 


THE no Y SPY. 


57 


it appeared to me that every old salt, who wore a piping whistle at 
the end of a white cord about his neck, was anxious to talk with me 
in confidence. 

To excite the curiosity of a lot of old sailors aboard ship is like 
bringing a swarm of mosquitoes about ones head; and the way I 
was pestered with questions and cross-questions, as well as all sorts 
of surmises and hints, would distract any one, excepting, perhaps, 
the well-seasoned and tanned hides of their own kind. 

Captain Porter is the only man on board the ship to whom 
I told my story, though questioned in a gentlemanly manner by the 
other officers. I w r as able to hold and keep my own counsel from 
them all. I was to them a refugee, and that was all the satisfaction 
any of them got from me, except that in a general way I was free 
to tell anybody all I knew about theRebel batteries and forces; but 
why I had gone to Pickens was explained only to Captain Porter, 
who believed my story, from the interview with Secretary of War 
Cameron down to getting aboard his ship. Though I had nothing 
whatever to show as proof, having brought with me to the ship only 
the rather scanty clothing I wore, having almost stripped myself in 
anticipation of a swim for life while crossing the bay. 

Right here I may mention that my family preserves with the 
greatest care a sailor shirt, on which is an elaborately embroidered 
star in colors, in each corner of the broad silk collar, also a pair of 
white duck sailor trousers. These useful as well as beautiful articles 
were presented to me by some of the men aboard ship, for which 
present, I have often thought since, I must have been indebted to 
Captain Porter’s influence, as the articles are of such value that the 
old fellow who stowed them in my hammock would scarcely have 
parted with them without some remuneration. 

The needlework on these articles was all done aboard ship by 
the stiffened and well-hardened fingers of an old sailor, and I do not 
exaggerate in saying, for rare and delicate workmanship, they are 
not excelled by anything I have seen in the same line since. 

The monotony of life aboard ship was relieved somewhat by the 
every-day drill of the marines, under command of Lieutenant 
Broome, whose name I remember distinctly, as being associated in 
my mind with “a new broom,” he always looked so sleek and nice 
m his fresh uniform. The sailors were also drilled at the big guns. 


58 


THE BOY SPY. 


fore and aft, which they would pull and haul about for hours at a 
time under the commands of some officer. 

One day Captain Porter astonished the Rebels, as well as our own 
officers, by a mock naval battle. At a certain hour and upon a 
given signal, all hands were called to quarters unexpectedly, Cap¬ 
tain Porter appearing on the bridge with an immense big brass 
trumpet in his hands, through which lie bellowed out something 
which ever}d>ody but me seemed to understand. Men went up the 
rigging like a lot of monkeys in trees; others yanked out the big 
cutlasses. At the command, <f Repel boarders! ” they would climb up 
the sides of the ship and cut and slash their invisible enemies at a 
dreadful rate. Then suddenly an order came to load the guns; and 
in an instant almost, men whom I had not seen popped up out of 
the holds and handed to others, who had evidently been expecting 
them, cartridges, which were rammed into the big mouths of the 
cannons; then all stood still as death—but for an instant only—when 
the brass trumpet belched out something about a “ Broadside,” and—• 
Great Scott! it makes me tremble while I write about it—every gun 
on that big ship, great and small, went olf at the same time, and 
almost lifted the ship out of the water. 

They kept firing and loading in this way for quite a little while, 
Captain Porter, during this time, standing quietly and unconcern, 
edly on the bridge, with his watch in one hand and the trumpet in 
the other When he was ready, another order was fired through his 
telephone, and the firing ceased as suddenly as it had begun. 

During all this hubbub, when every fellow had a place to go and 
stay, I was jumping around from one place to another, like a hen 
on a hot griddle, trying to find some spot where I might not be 
in anybody’s way. When the firing ceased, the ship was rolling 
about and, as we were encompassed by the smoke, it seemed as if we 
were sailing in a cloud in mid air. 

Captain Porter, from his position on the bridge, began at once 
to catechize the different officers, precisely as a school-master would 
a class, asking each in turn, as he pointed to him. 

a How many rounds, Mr. Broome?” And if the answer was 
not satisfactory, an explanation was demanded. I remember that 
the assistant engineer’s position was at the little brass pieces, ele¬ 
vated abaft the wheel-house, and their work was not at all satisfac- 


THE BOY SPY. 


59 


tory to Captain Porter, wlio did not liesitate to so express himself, 
much to the disgust of the engineers and the amusement of the 
other officers. 

When the cloud of smoke lifted and we could see over the water, 
we found all the other ships of the squadron watching us, while the 
ramparts of Fort Pickens was to be seen crowded with men, no doubf 
wondering what was up. They, no doubt, supposed the ship’s ma 
gazine was afire. The Rebel Batteries were black with men, who 
imagined, of course, that the ship was fighting some of their own 
craft. 

It appeared afterward that this trick of Captain Porter’s came 
very near bringing on a conflict with the Rebs, as they prepared to 
open their batteries on the fort. If the drill had continued a little 
longer it would have resulted in bringing about a genuine fight. 
Perhaps this is what Captain Porter desired. 

There was some influence that fretted him very much at the 
time, which I have never heard explained. It was well known that 
he was most eager for the fight to begin. 

Early one bright morning our look-out spluttered out something, 
to which the officer on deck at the time—who was Lieutenant 
Queen, at present commandant at the Washington Navy Yard, and 
to whom I was talking at that instant—startled me by singing in 
my ear: 

“ Where away?” 

The fellow above said something about two points on our port 
bow. 

Mr. Queen left me abruptly to report to the captain, who soon 
appeared on deck. I climbed up to a good place from which to 
look out, and gazed in the direction in which Mr. Queen and the 
captain were pointing, but failed to see anything myself. 

Orders were issued to prepare a little boat that was attached to 
the Powhattan, as a sort of dispatch boat, and an officer, whose 
name was Brown—a fat, jolly young man whom Captain Porter 
seemed to think highly of—was put in charge. 

This little craft hoisted sail and went dancing about on the 
water like a sea-bird. By this time two steamers were in sight, 
approaching us. 

Who they were and what they were after was just what everybody 


so 


THE BOY SPY. 


wanted to know; the old sailors, who are always croakers, had any 
quantity of ridiculous stories about their errand and our rabidly 
approaching fate. 

Signals went up on Fort Pickens, and I discovered, first, that 
signals were being made from the Rebel Batteries, in rear of their 
Forts, and reported the fact, the circumstance awaking in Captain 
Porter a lively interest. 

The little sea-bird, with Mr. Brown, went out toward the approach¬ 
ing ships, as if to me6t them: orders were given by somebody, I 
suppose, but I failed to hear them, to weigh anchor, which was 
quietly done; then, instead of the ships halting to communicate with 
Mr. Brown's signals, they went nearer to the Rebel Batteries, while 
the black smoke poured out of the chimneys, and the paddle-wheels 
whirled around. 

All at once I jumped two feet high, because a gun behind me 
went off. Still the wheels went round and round, and the water 
was foaming in their wake. All hands and eyes were on the ship in 
the lead, when boom went another gun; and there is where I saw the 
first hostile gun fired. There was a splash in the water some dis¬ 
tance this side of the ship, but in her front, then another splash on 
the same line further on; this was the first shot across her bow, and 
it had the immediate effect of stopping those paddle-wheels as sud¬ 
denly as if she had been hit in the belly. 

She “ hove too"-—there was a long canfab with the captain of 
the boat, which turned out to be ships from Mobile bound to Pen¬ 
sacola with supplies — appealed from Porter to the old admiral, and 
the end of it all was, the two boats loaded with supplies and proba¬ 
bly amunition, were not permitted to go on past the Fort inside th« 
bay to Pensacola, as Captain Porter decidedly protested against it, 
and they were escorted back to Mobile. 

They were not war ships, and at that time some of our officers had 
peculiar ideas of the rights of Rebels: as, for instance, the refusal to 
allow my colored boy, Friday, to remain at the Fort because he was 
property, etc. 

In our mess I think there were four of as jolly, good-hearted tars 
as may be found in any navy, who vied with each other in their 
efforts to make my stay with them as comfortable as possible. I 
presume my popularity was increased a little bit, from the fact that 
\ 


the nor spy. 


61 


I really couldn't swallow the gill of grog, nor us*? tobacc( mat was 
issued to every one who wanted it, and my portion was sc upulously 
drawn and assigned to our mess. 

I was here first introduced to sea biscuit, which you k'iow is the 
naval term of S. O. B. Every old soldier will know the v, leaning of 
those cabalistic letters. 

One fellow, who was so droll that he kept the mess in a roar all 
the time, insisted that some of the sea biscuit then being issued by 
the commissary had been *left over from the Revolutionary War. 
They were really as hard as a board; it was often as good as a show 
to watch the antics of Jack trying to weld them, like iron, at the 
galley range, or to put them under the rollers of the big cannon for 
a chuck stone. 

The pickled pork he declared was alive with worms, and insisted 
upon raking me up the main mast, to prove to me that great chunks 
of it were able to crawl up the polished mast to the fore-top. While 
eating our grub (as they call it), when the cook had prepared a par¬ 
ticularly nice dish of sconce (I think that’s the way its spelled), 
Jack would pretend to be so hungry that he and another chum 
would get on all fours and squeal for all the world like a lot of hogs 
in a pen. 

Every day there would be signals exchanged between our ship 
and the others, or with Fort Pickens, and occasionally boats from 
the other vessels would come to our side bringing officers to visit our 
officers. 

For some days my daily life was spent in this way. I began to 
imagine, from some of the yarns that I was compelled to overhear 
from the sailors at night, that something was going wrong with me; 
nothing had been intimated to me directly by any of the officers, 
who were uniformly courteous, excepting, perhaps. Lieutenant 
Perry, the executive officer Avho had general charge of everything. 
On another occasion he had picked me up sharply for daring to 
handle a marine glass that I saw on the bridge one day and elevated 
toward the Rebels. 

The sailors, who, of course went with the boats to the fort as 
oarsmen, must have brought back some exaggerated stories about 
me, judging from their actions and talk. If any of those who 
may read my story have ever been compelled to listen to old sailors’ 


THE BOY SPY. 


62 

or old soldiers’ stories and croakings, they will be able to sympathize 
with me in my misery. I can think of no comparison that will 
approach so near my conception of the situation as that of being 
caged in an insane asylum with a crowd of cranky old lunatics, and 
being compelled to hear all they have to say without being able to 
escape from the horror. 

This Lieutenant Perry was, I believe, a nephew of Commodore 
Perry, of Lake Erie fame, and perhaps a v%ry capable officer, 
though I do not recall having heard his name during the war, which 
followed so closely. He was evidently prejudiced against me from 
the first day, probably because I declined to be interviewed by 
him. 

One day I was surprised by having him call me aside and com¬ 
mencing a conversation about the war, during which I expressed 
some decided opinions about the earnestness and sincerity of the 
Rebels. And I probably gave vent to my disgust at the permitting 
my colored boy to be sent back to slavery and possibly punish' 
ment. 

A short time after this I was invited to the captain's cabin. On 
entering, I found Mr. Perry and the captain in consultation. After 
pleasant greeting, Captain Porter said: 

“ We have just learned that theRebels have a lot of big guns at 
Montgomery which they are to send to Pensacola." When he got 
this far, I interrupted him to say, “That is hardly correct, as I had 
been in Montgomery, and they had no guns of any kind there." 
Perry spoke up and said they meant Mobile.' Porter continued, 
smilingly: “Yes, its Mobile, of course. Well, we want to spike 
those guns right there." Not for a moment thinking they were 
putting up a job on me, I looked anxiously in Porter's face for a 
clue to his meaning, in thus talking to me. Looking me squarely 
in the eye, he said: 

“ Now the government pays handsomely for this service," patting 
his pants pockets to make some keys rattle. Still I did not like the 
appearance of things, and perhaps too abruptly interrupted to say 

“Yes, I know; but the Rebels aren't going to let any one do 
that." 

Then ensued a long confab, in which Lieutenant Perry did most 
of the talking. 


\ 



THE BOY bBY. 


as 


captain Porter finally said to me, with a peculiar look: 

“Now I have some little file-shaped things, just made for that 
purpose; all a man has to do is to quietly drop one of these into the 
vent, and they don't even know its there, till they want to fire the 
gun." 

This looked plausible, and I began to feel as if I'd like to try 
that simple little trick, hut I told him candidly that I couldn't 
undertake it; that they would surely hang me, if caught; and that 
it wouldn't be well for me to run the risk just then. 

“Oh, says Perry, we will man a boat and land you on the beach 
ten miles from Pensacola." 

“Yes,"spoke up Captain Porter, “we will put you ashore any 
place you want to go." 

Without a moment's thought, except a desire to do any service for 
rny country, I said to them, “All right. I'll go." 

I knew nothing whatever at this time of the demands that were 
being made by the rebel authorities upon the Port to have me sur¬ 
rendered on a civil process, and on the same general principles that 
had induced the Port officers to return the colored boy, was being 
brought to bear in my case. It seems the officers of the Port got 
rid of the knotty point by informing the Pebel flag-of-truce boat 
that I was out of their control, and in the hands of the naval auth¬ 
orities. 

Application had been made to the flag-ship of the squadron, that 
being the proper headquarters, but it seems that in some way Cap¬ 
tain Porter's instructions were direct and more recent than had been 
received by the admiral, whose name, if I remember aright, was 
Adams or Alden; but of this I am not positive. However, there was 
some sort of a conflict of authority between Porter and the Admiral, 
and not altogether a cordial feeling between them, as there were no 
visits or courtesies being exchanged beween them, as was customary 
v in such situations. 

I had myself seen from the deck of the Powhattan a little tug^ 
boat bobbing out to the Admiral's ship, but had no idea, of course* 
that I was being the subject of negotiations, which were being car> 
/ied on by the opposing forces through their flags of truce. 

The Admiral, who had desired the ships from Mobile to pass in 
unmolested, was quite indifferent to my fate, and did not deign to 



64 


THE BOY SPY. 


communicate with Mr. Porter or myself. No doubt if I had beer 
aboard his ship instead of Admiral Porter’s, the true story of this 
episode would never have been w r ritten; as I should have been sur¬ 
rendered, as a matter of courtesy to the Rebels, who would have 
further extended the courtesy—at the end of a rope. 



CHAPTER VI. 


ADMIRAL PORTER SAVES THE BOY’S LIFE—INTERVIEW WITH THE 
REBEL FLAG-OF-TRUCE OFFICERS, WHO CLAIM HIM FOR A 
VICTIM—SCENES ON BOARD A MAN-OF-WAR—RETURN HOME 
BY SEA—RECEPTION IN NEW YORK—TELEGRAPH ACQUAINT¬ 
ANCES—NEW YORK PAPERS RECORD THE ADVENTURE IN FULL 
PAGE. 

It will be seen tliat the Admiral was willing that I should be sur¬ 
rendered, and my life hung for several days in a balance, which, 
thank God, was held by Captain Porter. 

Perry, knowing of these negotiations, was himself convinced 
that I was a Rebel Spy, whom they wanted to get back, and had kept 
a close watch on my actions; and, I presume, had set half the ship’s 
crew to pick me up on any little circumstance which would serve to 
confirm his suspicions that I was in the service of the rebellion. 

One day I was sitting on the “back stairs,” or on the platform 
of the gangway aft the wheel-house, and, as the vessel had swung 
round, I could, from my location, see right over the water to the 
rebel lines. My position happened to be somewhat secluded, and I 
had in my hands a scrap of an old New York Ledger , that one of 
the tars had loaned me. I saw that I was being watched by Perry, 
who was in quiet consultation with the officer of the deck. A 
marine with a loaded musket had been ordered to look sharp that I 
did not fly over to the Rebs, I suppose. 

While in this situation the thought burst upon me that I was a 
prisoner, suspected by my own friends of being a spy in their 
camp. 

The interview that I had had in the cabin with Captain Porter 
and Lieutenant Perry, the proposed trip to Mobile, with a dozen 
other little incidents, rushed through my brain at once, but I was 
comforted by the thought that the War Department would acknowl¬ 
edge my services. After this feeling had passed away from my 
mind to some extent, I recalled with bitterness some^of Lieutenant 
Perry’s actions aud talks with me. Carelessly glancing around to 
sec that he was still on deck, I wrote on the margin of that old 


66 


THE BOY SPY. 


paper some words that expressed, in language more emphatic than 
politic, the opinion I entertained of a certain officer, and whose 
conduct I should take care would be reported to the ears of the 
Navy Department. Before I had finished, a hand was laid on my 
shoulder; another reached down and snatched the paper from my 
hand; the young officer, whom I had seen talking to Perry but a 
few moments previously, said: 

“Ah, sketching, are you?” as he took the paper and handed it 
to Mr. Perry, who was at his back, and he read with a flushed face 
the ugly comments on his brutality to a boy prisoner, who had done 
more for his country in one night than he would accomplish in his 
life-time. 

For a boy, this was a pretty sharp trick, if it were not very dis¬ 
creet. Mr. Perry roughly said, as I put my hands in my pockets 
and looked at him defiantly. 

“Take your hands out of your pockets when you talk to an 
officer, damm you!” “Go forward, sir!” “Don’t you come aft 
again! ” 

Mr. Perry, as the executive officer, had the control and manage¬ 
ment of almost every detail aboard ship; and, of course, after his 
ridiculous failure to catch me mapping, or sketching, which had be¬ 
come known all over the ship, he entertained for me more positive 
'and open dislike than ever, so that I was henceforth, practically, his 
prisoner. I had enjoyed full liberty to-go about every where as I 
pleased, heretofore, and lounged or lay about in the warm sun most 
of the time up by the wheel-house; but now I understood that, by 
his arbitrary orders, I was not to be allowed to go aft; which I 
interpreted to mean confinement to the forecastle. 

This was not so pleasant for me, as I could have no communica' 
tion with the officers, and lost the opportunity of seeing the marine 
drill, which was a daily performance, that seemed to relieve the 
monotony of our every-day life, which was indeed becoming quite 
tiresome to me. 

However, I consoled myself with the reflection that I should soon 
be able to get away to my home in the North. There had been a 
transport in the squadron unloading supplies, which I had been given 
to understand would take me off on her return to New York. I 
watched with eager interest the unloading of this transport, which 











“AHI SKETCHING. ARE YOU?" 


























































A- 


4 


/ 




y \ 

'i 


« 


















i 







TEE BOT SPY. 


6? 


had to be tediously and drudgingly performed by the use of lighters 
and pulleys over the ship’s side;—the rebs objected, you know, to our 
forces using the Fort’s piers, which was within range of their guns, 
though it will be recalled that our Admiral did not prevent their 
ships going into the harbor to unload their supplies. 

I think it must have been some of- Billy Wilson’s Zouaves, or 
taeir supplies, that were being unloaded. You will remember that 
about this time that regiment of the roughs and toughs of Yew 
York City had been sent down there, where they were permitted 
to encamp on the Island, between the fires of the two forces; being 
natural enemies of both, communication with them was necessarily 
limited. 

Early one morning, one of the petty officers shook me out of 
the hammock, saying: 

“ Bundle up quickly, to go aboard the transport.” 

If I didn’t get out of the hammock that morning very grace¬ 
fully, it was because it was done suddenly. The man who called 
me stood by, as he said, to help me get ready, as the ship was to 
sail at daylight. I had no bag for my luggage, which consisted only 
of the gifts of the fine sailor suit, mentioned heretofore, and what 
I wore on my person, so we were not long in getting ready. 

Hurrying up on deck, I went to the gangway aft, where the little 
gig, as they call the little boat, was bobbing up and down on the 
swell, as the waves beat against the ship’s side. The sailor standing 
in the bow, holding on to the steps, or rope balustrade, helped me to 
make the little jump into the boat, which I felt was dancing with 
delight because it was to take me off that old ship. 

As I passed to the rear seat, each old tar had a kind word of 
good-by for me, and I believe that I promised every one of them to 
go and see their friends and sweethearts when I should get home. 
We waited awhile for an officer who was getting the captain’s mail 
ready. Soon Lieutenant Queen came down the steps and scrambled 
to a seat beside me, saying, pleasantly: 

“ Well, my boy, I wish I were going with you this morning.” 

He ga\v, the order to let go and soon we were bouncing over the 
water toward the transport, which was smoking and hissing away at a 
great fate some distance from our ship but nearer the shore. When 
we pulled alongside I braced myself for the climb up her side, when 


68 


THE BOY SPY. 


Lieutenant Queen should give the signal. He had gone aboard 
ahead and delayed sometime; presently he appeared at the ship’s 
side and began to descend to our boat again; I thought his manner 
a little queer, as I watched him wil h astonishment; once in the boat, 
he was about to give the order to pull off, when the captain of the 
transport hailed him and said: 

“I’m sorry, but don’t you forget to tell Porter its not my 
fault.” 

After a little further talk in an undertone, Mr. Queen told the 
coxswain to go ahead, and then turning to me said: 

“ There’s some mistake, they say they can’t take you, they 
have no room.” 

My feelings may be imagined—they can not be described. I was 
so disappointed that I was litei’ally struck dumb, and could not 
speak a word on our return to the ship, and was led aboard by 
the good-hearted old sailors as if I had just been rescued from a 
watery grave. 

Going to our ship’s side, I looked over the water in the early 
grey of the morning and saw the transport, on which I had built 
my every hope of home, slowly but surely steaming away toward 
home, and I still on the ship and a prisoner. How long I stood 
there I do not know; probably until the fast-sailing transport had 
almost gotten out of my dimmed sight. I cried, of course I did, 
like a big baby, and on board a man-of-war, too ; and being too 
proud to show it, I kept my face resolutely set toward the receding- 
ship that was going home without me. 

I didn’t even have such a thing as a handkerchief to dry those 
tears, bitter tears, which would run down my cheeks and drop into 
the sea below me. 

Mr. Queen, who had reported his trip to Captain Porter, hunted 
me up to say that “ the captain would see that I was taken care of 
and sent home all right.” 

Speaking in his kindly, sympathetic manner, seemed to renew 
my emotion, and turning my wet cheeks to him I said, I fear some¬ 
what harshly, “I’ll never again undertake anything that would get 
me aboard a naval officer’s ship.” 

He laughed good-naturedly, while he told me of his many dis¬ 
appointments in not getting home from foreign countries, as he had 
h ' 


TIIE BQl ,PY. 


69 


planned, while in the naval service. He said also that Captain Por¬ 
ter was mad about it, because some one seemed determined to inter¬ 
fere with everything or anything he wanted to accomplish, but he 
would fix me all right next time, and, pointing to another transport, 
he said: 

‘‘ You will go on that ship in a few days.” 

Some of the talks and hints which the old sailors had been 
firing at me for days about a Rebel Spy, sent aboard to fire their 
magazine, or to signal to the Rebels any attempt to run inside, and 
which I had taken at the time as sailors’ yarns, were now vividly 
recalled to my mind. These things, coupled with the recent inter¬ 
view between Porter, Perry and myself, in which I had been 
entrapped into an agreement to return through their lines to spike 
some guns, all came upon me with a sickening sensation. 

I had been led by the talk of Perry, against my own judgment, 
and doubting the feasibility of his plans, to agree that I should put 
ashore alone, in a dismal swamp in Florida, ten miles from every¬ 
thing living but alligators and snakes, in the dark of midnight, to 
find my way across to Mobile to spike some guns. 

Because I was willing to do anything for the benefit of the 
Union cause, not having a single thought of fear or danger to 
myself, this disposition had been twisted and tortured by Mr. 
Perry, a United States officer, into a virtual acknowledgement on 
my part that I was aRebel and was anxious to return to their camps. 

I do not believe that Captain Porter agreed with Perry in this 
conclusion. 

If the object of these Rebels in their negotiation was to throw 
discredit on my reports of their operations and plans—which they 
knew I could correctly give—they succeeded only in the sense that I 
was personally discredited. The officers at the Fort were grateful 
and glad to receive my information. I know they were benefited by 
and acted upon it; but the poor spy who enabled them to save their 
Fort, or at least prevent disaster, was ignored. The officers, no 
doubt, took great credit to themselves in their official reports. 

I may be allowed to say right here that the spy’s work, though 
often most dangerous and important, is always thankless. That was 
my experience at the outset of my career, but (unfortunately forme 
perhaps) did not deter me from continuing in the same service. 


70 


THE BOY SPY. 


made up my mind to one thing, however; I stuck to it, and I 
was never caught on board a man-of-war again, but confined my 
operations to solid ground, where I could have more room and free¬ 
dom, and be my own executive officer. 

The next day on board the ship was Sunday, and an eventful one 
to me. As is customary aboard a man-of-war, it was inspection day. 
All soldiers and sailors know what a Sunday inspection is, so I need 
not describe it. 

At a certain hour I was invited aft, with the drove of a crew—to 
“ Meeting” as the sailor said. All hands were congregated about the 
deck according to a drill, which all understood, at a certain, moment 
the officer of the deck stepped to the captain's door and, after salut¬ 
ing in the proper manner, invited the parson to the pulpit. 

Captain Porter in full regimentals marched out in grand style, 
taking up his position, and gravely opened a book from which he 
read some prayers as effectively as a clergyman, after which there 
were orders read, and a dismissal for a general holiday—relief from 
drill and routine work for the balance of the day. 

This was the first time I had been permitted to look at the cap¬ 
tain since my disappointment, and I most eagerly scanned his face 
for some indication of his feeling toward me; once or twice I caughtf 
his eye, but I found little comfort there. He was a fierce-looking 
fellow, and particularly so when fixed up in his Sunday toggery. 

The other ships of the squadron, as well as the fort and tlieRebels, 
seemed to be putting on their best attire and were feeling comforta¬ 
ble in their Sunday dress. 

Inside the harbor, the Rebels seemed to be enjoying Sunday 
excursions with their little boats; the officers on the ships and the 
fort were exchanging friendly visits. 

I had, as a special Sunday privilege, I suppose, been told to 
resume the freedom of the ship as at first, and was lounging in my 
haunt above, where I could see all about us. 

Along some time in the afternoon I noticed a little steam-tug 
steam out past Fort Pickens, puffing and dancing along in the direc¬ 
tion of the admiral's flag-ship. The striking peculiarity about the 
little boat was, that at her bow she floated a white flag, not larger 
than a bathing towel, while on the rear staff were flaunted theRebel 
colors. 


THE BOY SPY. 


7\ 


My curiosity having been greatly excited by the sailors' talks of 
flags-of-truce to the fort, in which I was in some unknown way 
connected by them, I watched with intense interest every movement 
this little craft made; she came on, dancing along between the shore 
and the squadron until the flag-ship was almost abreast of her, then 
suddenly turning, the fluttering white flag pointed directly to the 
admiral's ship, and was lost to my sight behind her great sides. 

Others on board were watching this also, and I could see that 
the glances of the men would turn significantly from the little truce 
boat to me. 

Mr. Queen had gone olf visiting, but Mr. Perry was on hand, 
sullen and disagreeable. 

They stopped so long aboard the Admiral's ship that one of the 
younger officers ventured to say to me in a side whisper, feeling 
perhaps that I needed some comfort: “Oh, they are just over for 
a Sunday visit to the Admiral," and then walked briskly away from 
me as if afraid of being seen by Perry talking to the Rebel Spy. 

He had scarcely turned away from me when, on looking in the 
direction of the flag-ship, I saw the white flag come bobbing out 
from under the stern of the big ship. Were they going back to their 
Rebel camps? No! they were bearing straight down on us, while 
they were waving adieus to the officers, who were looking over the 
bulwarks of the ship they had just quitted. 

Great God! my heart sank within me at the thought that they 
were after me again, and the old Admiral had sent them to Captain 
Porter, with orders to give me up. 

I reckon I turned pale. I know that I felt that I would die in 
the water beneath me before I would return with them to the Rebel 
lines. I was a boy of strong impulse, and, if I must say it. myself. 
I was not afraid of death; but I determined in the instant I stood 
there watching that boat come toward us so saucily that I would 
die rather than return with them. 

The slightest provocation at that time would have made me lea] 
overboard. Luckily for me, the young officer who had spoken tt, 
me but a few moments previously, ran rapidly up the few steps ^ 
and called me quickly to him, saying: 

“ Captain wants you in his cabin, right away." 

I nervously followed him., and as he opened the cabin door I stepped 




THE BOY SPY. 


inside and saw Captain Porter in the act of buckling on his sword 
belt; his face was strangely flushed, and, as he adjusted his sword 
into its proper position at his side, and buttoned up his coat, turned 
sharply on me, saying, as he shook his head significantly: 

“ Young fellow, that boat is coming after you; do you know 
that?” 

I don't know just what I did reply, I was so stunned for a mo¬ 
ment, hut the gallant, glorious old loyal son of the navy put the 
answer into my head. 

“ You claim our protection, don't you.'' 

“ Yes, I do. I'll go overboard Captain, but I'll not return to the 
Hebei lines.” 

“You don't need to. You have claimed my protection; you are a 
boy away from home and among enemies; you are in my charge.” 

I tried to thank him, but he stopped me; abruptly, saying: 

“Never mind; you claim our protection, and, by God, you shall 
have it.” 

With this he glared out of his little window like a wild beast in a 
cage, and I backed out of his presence with a heart overflowing with 
thankfulness and gratitude, rejoiced that I had found one officer 
who would use his authority to protect American citizens; who 
sought the good of the country ana the protection of our flag. 

I went back to my perch just in time to see the white flag run 
under our bow, and, looking down over the ship's side, I could see 
the tug was filled withRebel officers. 

The officer of the deck received them courteously, and, after 
reporting to Mr. Perry, they were invited aboard. Mr. Perry was 
most affable and pleasant with them, as were, in fact, all the officers, 
and the Rebels themselves seemed to be as jolly as if they were out 
for a frolic. There was nothing in their manner or bearing toward 
each other that would lead anyone to infer there was any prospect 
of a war. 

After the preliminary courtesies had been exchanged, a couple 
of them went into the captain's Cabin; what occurred there I never 
learned; the interview, however, was a mighty short one; the Rebel 
emissaries came out and without any further parley got aboard their 
flag-of-truce boat and steered for their sand-banks. 

I have a recollection of reading in our school histories an account 


THE BOY SI 


7 j 

of one of our naval officers, while in an Austrian port, giving some 
such protection to a naturalized citizen of the United States, and 
great credit attached to this act; perhaps, I am prejudiced, but I 
doubt very much if that officer did as grand and heroic an act as 
that of Captain Porter in protecting a boy from the shabby, cowardly 
attempt of traitors in arms against his flag, aided by the more con¬ 
temptible conduct of our own officers who were his superiors. 

It required the nerve which subsequent events showed Captain 
Porter to possess, and his name and deeds are everywhere recognized 
while that of his superior, the Admiral, has been lost. 

During the ten days I was anchored off Fort Pickens on board 
the man-of-war Powhattan my enforced sojourn may be likened to 
that of a “ fish out of water.” 

In compelling an ignorant slave boatman to row me over the bay 
in the cover of the night to Fort Pickens with this valuable infor¬ 
mation, I was, according to law, as it was interpreted technically, 
guilty of a threat or attempt to kill. This, with the fact that the 
slave, like the boat and oar, was “ property,” added robbery to the 
indictment prepared against me. 

But as the slave had been so heartlessly and almost cruelly sent 
back to his little boat, there was in fact no robbery, and all that 
could have been claimed was the intention or intent to kill, etc. I 
did not understand then, and have not since been able to learn, 
sufficient law to properly satisfy myself on this question, but the 
facts are as has been stated here. 

On his return to theRebels, the colored boy, no doubt, gave these 
officials an exaggerated story of his experience with the bold high¬ 
wayman, or freebooter, in his boat on the bay, thinking in this way 
to obtain for himself some immunity from the terrible punishment 
that awaited all slaves who were caught out at night, which would 
be more especially severe at such a time and under such circum¬ 
stances as had just happened to him. 

The Rebel officers, of course, when they heard the dreadful story 
from the lips of my boatman, at once began looking up the details 
of the recent visit of the Texan among them, and readily gathered 
sufficient data from my week’s companionship and intercourse in their 
midst to justify the conviction that I was a dangerous fellow, and had 
gone over to the Yankees, knowing their hand and game too well. 


TUE BOY SPY ; 


n 


It is probable that the object of the flags of truce was, primarily, 
to create in the minds of our officers an impression that I was 
unworthy and undeserving of belief. Before leaving Washington I 
had, while in consultation with an official of the War Department, 
been given to understand that, as a matter of policy, it would be 
more to my credit to obtain information and report directly to the 
War Department; and I was cautioned not to acknowledge to any 
person —friend or foe—that I was on a secret errand. I had not, 
during my brief stay at the fort, mentioned to any of the officers 
the fact that I was visiting in the service of the War Department, 
and had only informed Captain Porter of my hasty interview with 
the Secretary, admitting to him that the present service was purely 
voluntary, but that I expected to be regularly engaged on my return 
home. I had no papers of any kind in my possession, and even if 
I had brought along with me ,the Secretary of War’s endorsement 
on my application, no person would have been able to have read the 
Secretary’s peculiar chirography. 

Some of our officers, in April, 1861, were inclined to accept the 
Rebels’interpretation of the laws, and those at Pickens were, I fear, 
disposed, as a matter of mere courtesy to surrender on their demand 
my person a victim of their unholy vengance. At that time Ben 
Butler, Fremont, or General Banks, had not had the opportunity tc 
lay down the law of the nation to the Rebels in arms against its 
authority; but, luckily for me, I was aboard the ship commanded by 
Captain D. D. Porter, and though I had in my uncertainty of mind 
for several days “been like Mahomet’s coffin, supended between 
the earth and sky,” I did not at the time these negotiations wero 
pending know that my life was hanging by so slender a thread, or, 
more properly speaking, that I was liable to be suspended by num¬ 
erous threads woven together in the more substantial form of a rope. 

Captain Porter’s interview, however, satisfied me at the time, 
but when I witnessed with what cordiality and heartiness the Rebel 
officers were being received aboard our ship, my mind was puzzled, 
and I recall now a feeling of uncertainty or misgiving. 

In a day or so after Captain Porter’s reception and emphatic 
"ejection of whatever propositions the Rebel officers accompanying 
;he truce boat had made to him, in regard to giving into their hands 
for trial ''he Yankee Spy, I bid Captain Porter and his ship a hearty 


THE HOT SPY. 


75 

and thankful farewell, and the curtain was rung down on my Pina¬ 
fore experiences. 

The side-wheel transport steamer Philadelphia being ready to 
return to the North, a day preceding her sailing I was placed aboard 
of her as a dead-head passenger for New York. 

There were quite a number of passengers aboard, among them 
Lieutenant Slemmer and one other artillery officer, whose name I 
have forgotten, who were going home for the benefit of their health; 
also a number of mechanics who had been employed about some 
repairs on the Fort. 

As seen from the deck of the transport, as we weighed anchor 
and pointed her prow homeward-bound, I thought the sloop-of-war 
Powhattan, with her companion ship, the Brooklyn, with their 
port-holes and big guns and men aloft, to give us a parting salute, 
was one of the most beautiful sights imaginable. How much better 
pleased I was with the view from this standpoint than I had been 
with the sailing and saluting of the transport which had sailed a 
few days previous, under just such circumstances (except that I 
wasn’t aboard of her on my way home). 

Our captain had taken aboard some field-pieces of heavy artil¬ 
lery which had not yet been stowed below. While we were yet in 
that portion of the gulf where the water was comparatively so 
smooth, and the weather so fine, our civilian captain amused him¬ 
self by calling on all hands to assist in mounting one of these guns 
on its field carriage, in the bow of his old transport, while he enter¬ 
tained himself and the ship’s company with great stories of the 
danger from the newly-fledged privateers that Jeff Davis so 
promptly issued his letters of reprisal for. 

We steamed along smoothly and slowly enough for a day or two 
without any adventure. I have often wondered since what would 
have been the effect on the old ship if that captain had taken a 
crazy notion to have fired one of those big field-pieces. 

When we reached Tortugas, or Fort Jefferson—which I believe 
is the name of the immense affair which seems to rise straight out 
of the water—there was considerable saluting and signalling with 
the flags on the Fort as we approached the anchorage. 

We stayed at Tortugas part of two days, storing away the guns, 
and I do think they were two of the most intolerably hot days that 


76 


THE BOY SPY. 


I have ever felt. As w'e lay at anchor, and when the sun was high¬ 
est, it was necessary to spread over the ship’s deck the large canvas 
awning, which the sailors said was to prevent the pitch calking 
from melting out and to avoid “warping the ship.” 

Here I went ashore, if going inside an immense Fort can be 
called shore—there certainly was no freedom about it—but it was a 
great relief to one’s legs to be able to. stand and walk about on the 
ground once more, even though it was inside of great walls, and the 
only persons to be seen were the men of the garrison, their officers 
and a few families. 

During our voyage—after leaving Key West—our Fort Pickens 
officers. Lieutenant Slemmer and his companion, had kept close to 
their rooms—probably they were too sick to make an appearance— 
hut when the ship got into the hay, and as we ran up the river to 
the anchorage, Mr. Slemmer’s sick companion made his appearance 
dressed up in full regimentals. As he sat on top of the pilot-house 
with our captain, with his mantle thrown hack over his shoulder, 
and showing the brilliant red lining of the artillery uniform, he 
looked to me then as if he were expecting to be received as a hero. 

Lieutenant Slemmer, on the other hand, modest and retiring, 
did not show himself at all; and, as soon as he got ashore, he scur¬ 
ried off to Pennsylvania to meet his wife, who had previously been 
highly honored and entertained after her return North through the 
rebel lines. 

Your humble servant was not long in getting on solid ground, 
and, in company with a Spanish exile from Cuba, we drove at once 
to the Astor House. Here was lying in state, in their heavily 
draped parlor, the body of Colonel Ellsworth, the funeral cortege 
being on the way from Washington City to the burial place, some¬ 
where east of New York. 

It is not for me, in this narrative, to attempt anything like a 
description of the exciting times I was permitted to witness in New 
York City that Sunday. Those who have followed me in this effort 
to picture my solitary and lonely adventures, away off in Florida, 
when my attempts, voluntarily, to do something for my country, 
and for the people who were then so terribly in earnest at home, 
will appreciate my feelings of joy and happiness, over being once 
more among friends—and such great, hearty, fighting friends, too, 
as everybody seemed to be at that time. 


TEE BOY SPY, 


77 


The first thing I did was to go to a telegraph office; und, climb¬ 
ing up four or five flights of stairs, I found Mr. Porter in charge of 
the operating room, as chief operator and manager; and although 
I had never met him personally, I was well acquainted by wire, hav¬ 
ing often worked with him at the other end of a 300 mile wire. 

Introducing myself, and briefly explaning my arrival from 
Florida, and a desire to announce myself to friends at the other end 
of his wire, he astonished me by at once saying: 

“ Why, bless me, is this you? There’s been lots of talking over 
this wire about you, lately." 

Then he related at length all he had seen and heard of my 
career through the newspapers during all the time I was a helpless 
prisoner aboard the Powhattan. 

He had, as you may imagine, a great deal of news for me about 
myself, as reported by the Southern press and extensively copied in 
the North. 

I was soon put in communication over the wire with a brother 
operator near my own home; and, strange as it may appear to those 
who are not familiar with the humors of the telegraph, an opera¬ 
tor’s “touch," even though a thousand miles distant, like the sound 
of a familiar voice, is recognized by some peculiarity that attaches 
to the operator’s style. 

My old friend at the other end of the wire, on hearing my 
“sending" at the New York end, told me afterward, that on that 
quiet Sunday morning, when alLalone in his office, he had been read¬ 
ing at that very moment a newspaper account of my adventures, in 
which it was made to appear that our officers had, in reply to the 
demand of the rebels, informed them, that they—the Union offi¬ 
cers—were going to hang this spy themselves; and while he was yet 
thinking that as between the two, there was no hope of my escape, 
his attention was called to the signal for his office to receive a mes¬ 
sage. Hastily answering to “ G. A.," or the telegraphers go ahead, 
he pulled out a pencil to note down the message. The first words 
the brass tongue of the instrument sounded to his startled ears were: 

“ I am 0. K. ’’—this was my telegraphic signal—“ Who are you ?" 

He said he knew as quickly as the words “ I am," were sounded, 
that it was me at the key; but, in his present state of mind, could 
not resist the feeling that he was about to communicate with a spirit. 


78 


THE BOY SPY. 


or the ghost oi his friend, but, as the sounder uecame silent, or 
paused for a reply, he recovered himself, and answered nervously 
that he was my old friend Gilson. 

Then we had a long, confidential talk in whispers, as, it were, 
over the long wire, in which much that I have tried to relate in 
these pages was briefly gone over, while I was, in turn, informed of 
all that had been done and said during my absence. 

Word was sent to my father and to my sweethearts and all my 
friends. As I rose to leave the office, and turned to thank my old 
fraternal companion for his kindness and courtesy, in giving me 
this opportunity to at once converse with my home, he suggested 
to me that, as I had been so grossly misreprented, I ought to see the 
New York papers and have my story properly given to the world. 

At his request, I agreed to meet him at the office in the evening, 
when he would take me to the different offices of newspapers with 
which he, as manager of the Associated Press, had friendly rela¬ 
tions, and introduce me to the editors. 

Leaving Mr. Porter, I found my way next to Rev. Henry Ward 
Beecher’s Church, in Brooklyn, as being one of the necessary things 
to do in New York on a Sunday morning. Here I got a back seat, 
in a crowded gallery, and, as I had not yet gotten over the tumbling 
and rolling sensations experienced aboard our old tub of a ship, as 
I sat there and tried to ogle the pretty girls in the choir over Mr. 
Beecher’s, pulpit, the whole church persisted in rocking and rolling, 
precisely as the ship had been doing for a week. 

The rest of the day I put in sending notes and messages 
Washington, and to friends whom I had left at home, but many of 
whom, I now learned, were out in the army, at different points. 

In the evening, I met my friend according to appointment, and 
together we called at the New York Herald office, where I was 
pleasantly welcomed as a “ fruitful subject,” and the shrewd city 
editor pumped me thoroughly dry before he let me out of that 
chair by his desk. 

From there we went to the New York Tribune, where the same 
procedure was gone through but at somewhat greater length. The 
next morning, which, if I remember rightly, was May 28th, 1861, 
these two New York papers printed witl\ bold head-lines a fail 
account of my recent adventure. 


THE Bu i oPY. 


/9 

The Tribune, I think, published one of their war maps, in 
which was located the different Rebel batteries, but in such a mixed- 
up way that I was unable to understand it myself. 

However, it satisfied the people, and for a single day I was a 
greater hero in New York than Lieutenant Slemmer. 

Luckily for me, perhaps, I was anxious to get back home to see 
my number one girl, and got out of the city before I could be wholly 
spoiled. 

When I got over to Philadelphia, where I had some old railroad 
friends, upon whom I called for passes home, I was also quite a big 
fellow among my former railroad associates, and the passes were 
furnished without a question as to my claims or rights. Fortunately, 
I survived it all. 

I reckon I should have first reported to the War Departmen, at 
Washington, but at that particular time I was much more con¬ 
cerned about what No. 1 would think of it all, than I was for 
the opinion of the War Department, so I first reported to her, and 
the first words 1 heard were: 

“ Why, I thought you were hung!” 

What a deadener that was! The word hung fell from her lips 
into my heart like the dull, sickening thud of the dropping victim 
from the scaffold. But this isn’t to be a love story, so I must pass 
over some of the most interesting little events in the career I am 
trying to describe, although they supply tlie motive for many of 
the acts and incidents which to all my friends seemed queer. 


CHAPTER VII. 


REPORTING TO THE SECRETARY OP WAR, AT WASHINGTON—< 

ORDERED ON ANOTHER SCOUT TO VIRGINIA—IN PATTERSON’S 

ARMY, IN VIRGINIA, BEFORE THE BATTLE OF BULL RUN. 

I was having such a pleasant time at my home and among my 
young friends, that I took no thought of reporting to the officials 
of the War Department, at Washington. One day we were advised 
by the papers that Senator Andy Johnson, the famous Unionist 
of Tennessee, would pass through our town on his way to the Capi¬ 
tal. This was about the time of the outbreak of the reign of ter¬ 
ror in East Tennessee, and the sturdy Senator, with many others of 
the same fearless build, had been forced to flee for his life. But 
while he was a hunted fugitive when south of the Ohio River, his 
progress through the loyal States to Washington was a right royal 
one. 

As will be recalled, Mr. Johnson had been my first friend in 
Washington, and it was through my association with himself and 
Mr. Covode that I had entered the service. 

When the train rolled up to the station, I was the first to board 
the car, and, in my rather boyish way, pushed unceremoniously 
through the crowd to where the Senator was holding an impromptu 
reception. He greeted me very kindly by a hearty shake, as he 
bade me sit down by him, and as soon as he found an opportunity, 
in his half-laughing, fatherly w r ay, began to catechize the boy. 

As I have previously said, up to the meeting with the Senator, I 
had been entirely neglectful of my proper duty of reporting to the 
War Department a formal account of my movements since leaving 
Washington. I assumed that, in a general way, the newspaper 
comments, which were Quite flattering in the North, would be 
sufficient. 

This fact, with the frank confession that I really felt myself 
under greater obligations to a little girl, and was more willing to do 
her bidding than that of the Secretary of War* explains another of 
my many mistakes during the war. 

§■? 


TTIE BOY SPY. 


St 


When I told Senator Johnson that I had not heard from the War 
Department since leaving Washington in March—it was early in 
June now—he said at once: 

“ Why, you had better come right along with me to Washington. 
You ought to be there now.” 

Just then the train began to move off; a friend standing near 
me who had heard the Senator’s suggestion, emphatically seconded 
it, by saying: 

“Go on; now is your chance; you might be too late if you wait 
here longer.” 

I had no opportunity to say good-by to my folks, my friends, 
or my sweetheart; but went off as impulsively as before on a scout¬ 
ing campaign that, in effect, lasted until the close of the war. 

During that night’s railroad ride over the Alleghany Mountains, 
as I sat alongside Mr. Johnson, as we sped along the Juniata, I told 
him my story. The Senator was an attentive listener, and, before 
going to sleep, directed that I should at once put myself in com¬ 
munication with the War Department, and refer the secretary to 
himself and Mr. Covode. 

In those days I did not consider a birth in a sleeping-car a neces¬ 
sary condition for a night’s ride, but found an empty seat, curled my 
five feet six and-a-half inches of body into three and-a-half feet of 
space, and slept the sound sleep of youth, while the train rapidly 
rolled through the darkness toward the sunrise and daylight. 

On my arrival in Washington, I went directly to the Seventh 
Avenue Hotel, located at the northeast corner of Seventh and 
Pennsylvania avenues and Market space. This was Mr. Covode’s 
quarters when in the city. 

The clerk directed me to the parlor, where Mr. Covode was at 
that moment receiving a delegation. 

Recognizing me at once, he collared me as a school-master would 
a truant boy whom he had caught unexpectedly. I was pleasantly 
hauled across the room and introduced to Mr. John W. Forney, as 
a “young man from our own State who had been down amongst 
the Rebels, and they couldn’t catch him; and if they had, he 
wouldn’t be here now.—Ha! ha!” 

I found myself quite well known in Washington wherever intro¬ 
duced by Mr. Covode and his friends. It will be remembered that 


THE BOY SPY. 


82 

Mr. Forney was then a prominent newspaper jnan, and no doubt he 
found in the boy, who had just returned from a trip through Rebej 
armies, quite an interesting news source for his papers. 

I had been compelled to go over my story so much that I reallj 
became quite surfeited with the whole business, and was glac> 
enough when evening came, that I could go off alone and have s 
nice little time around the corner at the “ Canterberrv ” Every oh 
soldier who spent a day or night in Washington will laugh when lit 
reads anything about the “ Canterberrv.” I confess that for a time 
I became so greatly interested in the famous bouffe singer, Julia 
Mortimer, that I had nearly forgotten No. 1, and was becoming quite 
indifferent in regard to my appointment or business with the War 
Department. 

I found that it was about as difficult as before I left the city for 
Montgomery to obtain a private hearing with the Secretary. 

Upon the suggestion of these friends, who had interested them¬ 
selves in me, I was advised to make my application personally to 
the Secretary of War for a commission in the regular army; all 
agreed that this would be about the proper thing to do, it being 
understood that, in case I should secure this, which would be a per¬ 
manency, that I could, of course, be detailed in the customary way, 
on special staff duty, in the field, where there would be opportunity 
for me to make some use of the information I had obtained of the 
Southern country and their armies. 

With this object in view, I called at the War Department one day 
in company with Mr. Covode. 

Mr. Cameron was, as usual, very busy. There were a great 
many persons waiting their turn for an audience. Mr. Covode was 
admitted out of the regular order, because he, being a Congressman, 
had stated to the attendants, in his positive way, that his business 
was most urgent, and that he must see the Secretary. Mr. Cam¬ 
eron received us at first rather gruffly, when he learned that the 
object of this visit was to secure an office; but, upon being reminded 
of a former appeal and promise, and my recent services being brought 
to Ills attention in Mr. Covode’s glowing style, the Secretary turned 
to me laughing, in his quiet w r ay, and said: 

“■Well, there’s no doubt but that you have the pluok necessary 
for the army,” 


THE BOY SPY. 


S3 


Then turning to Mr. Covode, abruptly interrupting him, as if 
to ask a question: 

We would like to find out just now what tlieRebel Johnston is 
doing down in front of Pennsylvania.” 

Covode was ready to change the subject, and follow the Secre- 
tray’s lead, and at once spoke for me: 

“ We’ll, here’s the boy to find out all about it.” 

He didn’t seem to think it necessary to consult me about the 
matter at all. Mr. Cameron, looking at me quizically, said: 

“I will have you in mind, and get you something as soon as I 
can find a suitable place.” 

Then turning about, as the attendant brought in a message from 
another urgent Congressman, he said, in an authoritative manner: 

“ Covode, you go to Army Headquarters and tell them I sent 
you there with this young man. They can use him to advantage, 
perhaps. I will see you again.” 

I wasn’t exactly satisfied with this outlook. I had thought that 
I was through with the spy business, and had no desire to under¬ 
take any more lonely and isolated trips through the enemy’s 
country. 

Since my return I had found that nearly all the young fellows of 
my acquaintance were either in the army, or about to enter it, and I 
had naturally imbibed the military fever which prevailed at this 
time. I reckon every one of us expected, as a matter of course, to 
become colonels or generals in short order, for gallant service in 
front of the enemy, so it was not at all to my liking that I was 
being steered in the direction of the rear of the Rebel lines again. 

In my case, it was a doubly-dangerous undertaking, as I had so 
recently been well advertised all over the South in their papers, and^ 
was, of course, liable to be recognized and hung as a spy if I should 
be captured any place in their lines. As I walked with Mr. Covode 
from the old War Department Building I said something to * 
him about my misgivings, but in his hearty way he assured me by 
saying: “ Oh, this isn’t going to last long.” And then in a confi¬ 
dential manner he said: “ Old Simon wants to find out something; 
you just go ahead and do as he wants you to, and it will be all 
right.” 

When we reached Army Headquarters we encountered a s* * - 


84- 


THE BOY SPY. 


on duty at the door—a soldier of the regular army, who did not 
show Mr. Covode any particular attention, not recognizing a Con¬ 
gressman in his rough exterior. After some dilly-dallying we were 
admitted to the presence of a milita^-looking fellow whose name 
I can not recall. Mr. Covode introduced himself, and presented 
me as being sent by the Secretary of Mar. This announcement at 
once seemed to put the officer in a better humor with himself and 
his callers. Mr. Covode brusquely stated his business; the officer 
attentively listened and sharply eyed mo while Mr. Covode went 
through with his story about my services at Pensacola. 

“Does the Secretary want to procure any information as to 
•General Patter son’s movements?” 

(It will be remembered that at this time General Patterson was 
being urged by the War Department to make a demonstration on 
Johnston, to prevent lrm reinforcing Beauregard at Manassas.) 

Mr. Covode answered: “We want all the information we can get 
from all quarters, and he can get it too.” 

The officer said, smilingly: “Oh yes, of course; the young man 
is in the secret service of the War Department.” 

Returning to the Secretary’s office for some written authority to 
present to General Patterson, we were directed by Mr. Cameron to 
one of the clerks, who, after a short private conversation between Mr. 
Covode and Mr. Cameron, was authorized to prepare a note of 
introduction. As he handed the official envelope to me, he took 
occasion to observe, in a very pleasant way: 

“ I would suggest that this young man should not permit any 
persons to become acquainted with his business; the department 
prefers to hear from their special agents in confidence, and not 
through the newspapers” This hint given in this pleasant manner, 
I did not forget in following months or years. 

To my friend and tutelar saint, Mr. Covode, I again expressed 
my doubts about any secret service, after returning from our brief 
interview with Mr. Secretary-of-War Cameron and the official at 
Army Headquarters. Mr. Covode apparently agreed with my con¬ 
clusions, saying, as he reached for the official-looking letter which 
the War Department clerk had given me, and that I hesitatingly 
held in my hand: “ Lets see that letter.” 

Rutting on his ©ld-fashioned round-eyed spectacles, he read half 


THE BOY SPY. 


86 

aloud, in his deliberate way, as if studying out some hidden 
meaning: 

<{ This will introduce to you Mr. 0. K., a young man who has 
gained some personal knowledge of the plans of the Rebels, and who, 
I hope, may be of service to you in the same direction, etc. 

(Signed), “Simon- Cameron, Secretary of War ." 

He read it over a second time, and then looking at me, as if he 
had suddenly solved a problem said: “ Didn't he tell you to report 
direct to the War Department ? 99 

“ Yes," I remembered that I was advised to report to the War 
Department first and not to the newspapers. 

“Well , 99 says Mr. Covode, “that's all right; you go up there and 
find Patterson and present that letter, and he will give you author¬ 
ity to go wherever 3^011 please, and ) r ou let us know here what's 
going on." 

When I left the old man, I ventured a word as to my prospects 
for a commission in the regular arm}^, to which he gave the usual 
answer: “Oh, that's all right," and added— 

“ Come and see me to-morrow and I'll give 3^011 some more let¬ 
ters to some friends in Patterson's arim r ." 

After a restless night, I was early at Mr. Covode's room receiv¬ 
ing a pleasant good-morning. He said in a confidential whisper, but 
which was loud enough for any person to have heard had we not 
been alone in the room: 

“I saw some of those people last night, and it is all right." Thai 
wasn't very great encouragement to be sure, but, he added with a 
significant wink, “You go up there at once and find out all you can, 
and report to me what's going on, particularly if there are any Rebels 
going to attack Patterson's army," and he added, again with 
emphasis. “Report to me here, quick as you can. " 

“Yes, but this letter is to report to General Patterson. " 

“That's all right; you are to report direct to the War Depart¬ 
ment, too." 

I began to feel considerably mixed up by these contradictory 
instructions, but all the satisfaction I could get from Mr. C. was— 
“That's all right," to which he added, as I was leaving, “You 
tell me all you can find out, and I'll make it all right at the War 
Department." 


TEE BOY SPY. 


66 


As this letter had been prepared and signed by a clerk in the 
AVar Department, the penmanship was, of course, in the regulation 
copper-plate style, wholly unlike the former endorsement that I had 
received in Mr. Cameron’s own handwriting. 

Though Patterson’s army was in the neighborhood of Harper’s 
Ferry and Williamsport, Maryland, about fifty miles distant in a 
“direct route from AYashington, I concluded that, with such a recom- j 

mendation in my possession, the furthest way round might be the 
nearest way home; I would not risk the capture of that note by 
taking a short cut, so I made a safe detour, going due north to Bal¬ 
timore and Harrisburgh, Pa., distant over a hundred miles; thence 'j 
I came back south west through the beautiful Cumberland Valley 
to Chambersburg and Hagerstown, about seventy-five or eighty 
miles more ground. 

Here I was almost literally dumped from the car into the midst 
of General Patterson’s army—a lively host of the gallant and patri¬ 
otic boys who had rushed to arms at the first call of President Lin¬ 
coln for the three-months men. 

There have been books upon books published giving the history 
of this campaign, any one of which probably contains a more satis¬ 
factory description of the camp-life of those days than I would be able 
to give here. This effort is necessarily a personal, and, to some extent 
a*private history only, of the campaigns of an individual scout, but 
I may be indulged in the hope that some of the old boys, who will 
take the trouble to follow me in these wanderings, may have been 
among those who were in camp near Hagerstown along in June and 
July, 1861 . AYith what tenacity the mind clings to the remem¬ 
brance of those early days of the great war. 

I recall, as if it were but yesterday, this first hunt through the 1 
different camps for “Headquarters.” 

J oily soldiers were to be found everywhere, either walking about 
the roads in hilarious squads, or assembled in groups under the shade 
ol trees by the roadside, or perhaps crowding the porches and occu¬ 
pying all the chairs in the neighboring houses. In after years, when 
provost-marshals and camp-guards were established, the sky-larking 
was not so common, and the crowds, then, were usmTy to be seen 
cnly around some spring or well of water. 

I recall now with amusement how ignorant some of the three* 



THE BOY SPY. 


ST 

month boys of ’61 were about their own army-headquarters. Many 
to whom I applied for information about the location of head¬ 
quarters, referred me severally, to their own colonels, while one 
young officer, I remember, pointed to a mounted officer just riding 
past as the “ General's Assistant." 

I tramped through miles of dust that hot afternoon before I 
could get onto General Patterson’s track, and, when I finally discov¬ 
ered headquarters, I learned that the General with some of his aids 
were attending a dinner-party in the town and could not be seen 
before the next day. 

I did not deliver my letter of introduction to the officer, who I 
thought at the time rather impudently demanded to know my busi¬ 
ness with the General, but merely told him that I should call again 
to see the General. 

Having tried to perform a duty, and attended to business first, 
I set about enjoyjng the holiday which it seemed to me the boys were 
having all around. How like a circus it all seemed; some of the 
scenes then enacted might be compared to that of a county fair, 
at which there was being held, as an additional attraction to the 
country people, a militia muster or a prize drill, such as we see now 
when the State troops assemble one week in summer for their annual 
camp and drill. There was so much free and easy mixture of 
civilians and ladies with the soldiers—especially the officers—qjl 
were being constantly stirred up by the bands, that seemed to break 
forth in melody from every grove. There was, of course, the dust on 
the roads; the processions of thirsty crowds to and from the springs 
or wells; it all seems now like an immense picnic. Dear me, what 
bass drums there were in General Patterson’s army; wasn’t there 
one to each company? The old-fashioned bass drum, too, as bigas 
a barn door, and noisy in proportion, and to which was usually 
assigned the biggest fellow in the company the duty of beating on 
both sides. 

A Rebel officer once told me that they were able to estimate the 
strength of McDowell’s army before Manassas by the beating of bass 
drums at parades each evening. 

Along about sundown the usual preparations were made in all 
the camps for the dress parade—the great feature of the day—which 
was being witnessed by hundreds, and perhaps thousands, of ladies, 


88 


THE BOY SPY. 


old men, and children, who would drive out from the town and sur¬ 
rounding country for miles to witness it, to the delight of the sol¬ 
diers. What a beautiful sight, in June, 1861, was a full regiment 
of 1,000 freshly-uniformed, healthy, fresh men in line on dress pa¬ 
rade, with their gayly-attired officers (staff and line), goingthrough 
the “ retreat” with fine musical accompaniment. How smart the 
adjutant was, and what a tremendous fellow the drum-major! On 
Sunday evenings, at this parade, the chaplain took a hand in the 
drill, making a prayer, while the long line of the full regiment 
stood at “parade rest,” uncovered, with heads bowed, their little 
fatigue caps being placed on the muzzle of the gun; the band played 
“ Old Hundred,” and perhaps a chorus of a thousand male voices 
sung the soul-thrilling melody of the grand old tune, which is 
sung in Heaven. So it was in front of Hagerstown in June or July, 
1861. 


It was the fortune of war for me to be with the Army of the 
Potomac again before Hagerstown in July, 1863—a week after the 
battle of Gettysburg. But—ah, yes—the conditions were sadly 
changed; scarcely a brigade of that army could muster then as 
many men as were in each regiment in 1861. There were no visitors 
in camp; not a lady was to be seen, except, perhaps, the hospital 
attendants, and the music was confined to the tiresome routine of 
the “Reveille,” “Tattoo” and “Taps.” 

My first day in General Patterson's army was so full of new and 
soul-stirring, sensations, as compared with the same experiences in 
the rebel lines, that I was all in a ferment, and forgot about being 
tired, hungry and worn out, until the evening parades were all over, 
and the soldiers began to prepare their camp suppers. 

While trudging wearily back to the town, some miles distant, to 
find some supper and a bed, I had the opportunity to reflect seriously 
in my own mind over the work that I had undertaken. 

I wondered to myself if there were not Rebel spies in our army 
there. It occurred to me at once that there were no obstacles for 
them to overcome—the entire camp was free; everybody was wel¬ 
comed indiscriminately to the camp by the good-hearted soldiers; 
and officers were only too eager to talk with every caller about all 
they knew of the plans and strength of their own army. This, not¬ 
withstanding we were then encamped in Maryland, among a peo- 




\ 




■ 




THE BOY SBY. 


SO 


pie who, ii not openly hostile to our cause, were generally in sym¬ 
pathy with the secessionists, whose army was within fighting dis¬ 
tance and communication with their headquarters was only a ques¬ 
tion of an hour or so. 

Our officers and soldiers had certainly taken Hagerstown, Md., 
as I found to my disgust when I reached the hotel after dark, find¬ 
ing every bed and every corner of the old tavern was literally in 
possessions of our forces, though, through the kindly interest of a 
citizen, I was luckily provided with half a bed in a private house. 
Of course I slept well, except that I was disturbed by a horrid night¬ 
mare. I had somehow been transformed into a big brass drum, 
which a brawny fellow insisted upon pounding upon my stomach, 
which probably hadn't succeeded in digesting the cold supper. 

The first thing next morning was to try and find General Patter¬ 
son. My experience of the previous day enabled me to steer in a 
straight course this time, so I was not long in getting to headquar¬ 
ters; but seeing General Patterson was not such an easy matter. His 
staff officers volunteered to attend to business for their General, but 
I wouldn't, of course, allow any person to learn the character of my 
business. It was only after I had written a note, stating that I had 
a letter from the Secretary of War which I desired to present per¬ 
sonally, that I was permitted to approach the Commander. 

I need not describe the old Philadelphia militia General. He 
had, as is well-known, achieved some distinction during the Mex¬ 
ican War, and since that had enjoyed a life of leisure in his native 
city, where he had, by means of his wealth and accomplishments, 
become connected with the aristocratic families of the Quaker 
City. He was, besides, a patron of the military and the clubs; and 
being so favorably endorsed by prominent people of the State, he 
was selected to command the troops of Pennsylvania, then operating 
against General Joe Johnston of the rebel army. 

After some further delay, I was admitted to the presence of the 
old general, who, I imagined, was surprised at my youthful appear¬ 
ance and wondered that I had the temerity to beard such a grim 
old soldier as himself in his den. 

There were several other officers present, and also two gentlemen 
in civilian's dress, one of whom was quite an elderly-looking gentle¬ 
man while his companion was a young fellow, whose appearance 


90 


THE EOT SPY. 


struck me at once as being that of a Southerner. While General 
Patterson read my note of introduction from the Secretary of War, 

I embraced the opportunity to more closely observe the visitors, 
who were being entertained so pleasantly by the officers. 

I quickly gathered from the conversation that the elderly gentle¬ 
man was applying to our officers for some protection from our own 
soldiers, for his property. He probably owned some cherry trees in 
the neighborhood of the camp, or, perhaps, it may have been that 
the soldiers insisted on using some of the water from an overflow¬ 
ing spring somewhere on his ground. Whatever it was, he was 
receiving from the staff officers quite emphatic assurances that he 
should receive all the protection he wanted, and, moreover, the men 
guilty of trespassing on his ground should be severely punished. 
The young fellow whom I assumed to be the son had nothing to 
say. 

After General Patterson had finished reading the note, he 
turned, and, after looking me all over, through his glasses, as if I 
was some'kind of a curiosity who stood meekly and innocently 
before him, said: “Why, take a seat." Then, turning to one of 
his aides, he said something in an undertone as he handed him the 
letter. The aide, after reading it carefully, stepped up to me and 
pleas*antly but coolly invited me outside, when he said: “ The General 
requests that you will come to his quarters this evening." 

This wasn't exactly satisfactory to me, but I was glad enough to 
get from the presence of the GeneraPs visitors, because I was appre¬ 
hensive that something might be said in their hearing that would 
identify me as a scout. 

My visit to General Patterson occurred about the time that 
General Joe Johnston was maneuvering in his front, with the object 
of getting away from him to reinforce Beauregard at Manassas, in 
anticipation of the impending battle the v e. ^ar Washington offi¬ 
cials were uneasy as to the outcome of this mo fement, and had been 
almost daily urging General Patterson to make some demonstration 
in front of Johnston that would prevent his 1 erring for Manassas. 

Though I did not know it at the time, 1 have since learned that 
tiw, War Department, at Washington, while they would not employ 
scouts themselves over the head of the Commander of the depart¬ 
ment, jet were willing enough to avail themselves of the informa- 


TEE BOY SPY. 


91 


ti'on of the scout who could make his reports in an unofficial 
manner, through Mr. Covode, without compromising the courtesy 
or etiquette of the War Office. 

The whole country seemed to be alive with soldiers, all in a 
jolly good humor, nicely dressed, well fed. Their camps were 
models of tent life. 

There did not seem to me to be any preparation whatever for 
marching to meet the enemy. 

There was an immense amount of talk about what they intended 
.to do. General Patterson’s army did move, of course; but—Well, to 
go on with my story: I was most anxious to do something great my¬ 
self, being so filled with military ardor by the bass drums; perhaps the 
probability of the war being closed before I should have the pleas¬ 
ure of participating in a real fight with guns, was more constantly 
before my mind than any other danger. 

It seemed a long wait until evening, when I could again see 
General Patterson, and unfold to him a plan I had formulated, to 
go inside the Rebel lines that very night, and before morning find 
out, from a visit to General Johnston’s army, what he was likely to 
do. In my youthful ardor I hoped I could return to General Pat¬ 
terson befere breakfast time, that he might have the fight that same 
day before dinner. 

These were the wild feelings that were swelling in my breast 
when I approached headquarters to meet General Patterson’s ap¬ 
pointment. I walked boldly up to a group of officers who were 
loafing around headquarters; a sentry challenged me; nothing 
daunted, I j)ointed to one of the group—the same officer who had 
directed me to call—and asked to see him. 

My running into the sentry had made some little commotion, 
which served to call the attention of the officer, who recognized me 
and ordered the guard to allow me to pass. Meeting me half way, 
we walked to one side. I believe this officer was Fitz-John Porter, 
irho was then chief-of-staff—I am not positive ; anyway, I was cour¬ 
teously received, and, after being seated, was put through a course 
pf cross-examination as to my recent experience in the South, pretty 
much—as I now recall it—after the manner of a witness in his own 
defense. 

Being satisfied that General Patterson had referred the whole sub* 


THE BOY SPY 


92 

ject to thi« officer for his action, I told him briefly and pointedly 
that I was willing and ready to undertake the service I proposed, 
and believed that it was possible to ascertain the movements, and 
perhaps the plans of General Johnston; that I could at least gather 
from their telegraph communications to Richmond and Manassas 
the purport of any instructions which were, of course, being sent to 
Johnstor in that way over the wires. I was perfectly willing, for 
the good of the cause, to undertake the dangerous service of getting 
back through the lines with the information. 

Whatever may have been thought of the feasibility or propriety 
of this project, Mr. Porter could scarcely have doubted my motive, 
but he apparently looked upon me as a youthful enthusiast, or, as 
we term it nowadays, a crank. He said: 

“ The General is not disposed to make much use of the service 
of scours; he thinks it altogether unnecessary in this instance.” 

If Pitz-John Porter had dashed a bucket of cold water in my 
face, it would not at the time have had a more chilling effect than 
his fey hard words he uttered in this contemptible manner. 

My proposition was not visionary, but entirely practical, and 1 
venture now the opinion that had the service been accepted in the 
proper spirit it is possible that the despised spy might have brought 
to his shiftless headquarters some reliable information of Johnstoffis 
proposed movement to Manassas, which might have prevented his 
escape^ and thus have turned the tide of battle at Bull Run, which 
followed soon after the interview. 

It is likely that the headquarters of the army were a little over¬ 
sensitive on account of the well-known or the imagined interference 
or meddling of the Washington authorities with their military pre¬ 
rogatives. It has been fully explained in the “ Century” history, 
(sinco this story was first told) that General Scott, through the proper 
chamois, had been for days urging General Patterson to look 
carefully after Johnston, and to prevent at all hazards his junction 
with Beauregard. 

The urgency of the Washington officials, taken in connection 
with the letter I brought from the Secretary and Mr. Covode, may 
perhaps have caused them to infer that they were considered 
neglectful and needed some prompting and investigation; perhaps 
it may have been thought that I had been sent out as a spy in their 


THE BOY SPY. 


93 


own camps. Any way, I was not a willing party to any such schemes; 
my only object and desire was to accomplish something for the ben¬ 
efit of the cause, and in this I had not a thought of myself. 

Returning sorrowfully and with my heart laden with disappoint¬ 
ment to my bed, I pondered long before sleeping as to my proper 
course. The longer I considered all the circumstances connected 
with my being sent up there, I realized more clearly the real mean¬ 
ing of Covode’s words: 

“ Old Simon wants to find out something; you go ahead,” and 
the repeated hints to report “ direct,” came back to me with a 
greater significance than when uttered by Mr. Covode in Washing¬ 
ton. 

My humiliating reception at headquarters had deeply affected 
my rather sensitive feelings on the spy question. I had decided in 
my own mind to return to AVashihgton at once; but after reflection, 
while on my bed, there was a revulsion of feeling from humilia¬ 
tion to anger; and, after taking all things into consideration, I 
decided for myself, without consulting any one, that I should, on 
my own responsibility and without aid from our own officers, pass 
through our lines, enter the rebel lines, ascertain their plans, and 
go direct via Manassas to Washington, and report personally to the 
Secretary of War. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


i sight's SCOUT IN' JOHNSTON'S ARMY—REBEL SIGNALS—VISITORS 
FROM THE UNION ARMY HEADQUARTERS REPORT TO REBEL 
HEADQUARTERS—GENERAL J. E. JOHNSTON'S ESCAPE TO BEAU¬ 
REGARD REPORTED TO GENERAL PATTERSON—FITZ-JOHN PORTER 
RESPONSIBLE FOR THE FIRST BATTLE OF BULL RUN, AS IIE WAS 
CASHIERED FOR THAT OF THE SECOND BULL RUN—AN IMPOR¬ 
TANT CONTRIBUTION TO THE WAR HISTORY OF THE TIME—THE 
STORY SINCE CONFIRMED BY THE “ CENTURY ” HISTORIANS OF 
LINCOLN, SECRETARIES NICOLAY AND HAY. 

ail tlie morning I mailed a hastily-written note to Mr. Covode 
reh iing briefly the result of the interview with General Patterson’s 
principal aide, and stating further that I would return to Washing¬ 
ton via the Rebel lines at Manassas, and report “direct” on my 
arrival. 

I hunted up in one of the regiments a former acquaintance, who 
had some knowledge of my Port Pickens adventures through the 
papers. As our talk naturally turned in this channel, he expressed 
a lively desire to engage with me in any further undertakings of 
this character, and, before we parted, it was mutually agreed that, if 
the anangements could he made, we should travel together as 
scouts. 

I told my chum of my intention of going to Washington via 
Winchester and Manassas, and suggested that he secure permission 
from his colonel to go part of the way along ; that he might return 
with any’ important information that we should gather, while I 
should go. on through to Washington. It was agreed that he should 
he granted a leave of absence for a certain time, but he was cau¬ 
tioned by all his friends not to follow my lead, as it would surely 
result in his getting hanged. The warnings served only to increase 
his anxiety to get started on a real adventure. 

As we could not get authority from our officers to go outside of 
our lines, it was necessary that we should run the gauntlet of both 
the picket lines; our own were in sight and could probably be easily 


\ 


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5 

|« k •■ 









WE HASTILY DRESSED AND RAN BACK FROM THE BANK. 





















































































































































































































































































































































THE BOY SPY, 


95 


managed, but we did not know anything whatever about the 
other. 

I proposed that we should make the crossing of the river early 
in the evening under pretence of bathing, swim to the other side of 
the river with our clothes concealed in bushes held abovo the water. 
We were to assume the character of Baltimore refugees desirous of 
entering the rebel army. With this plan matured, and all the little 
minor points agreed upon between us in case of capture or separa¬ 
tion, we were both eager for the night to come, that we might start 
upon the journey. 

We both studied the Virginia landscape carefully during all of 
daylight, and when evening began to draw its shadows around 
the hills and trees our hearts beat quicker, in anticipaton of the 
forthcoming adventure. 

After sundown we joined a crowd who had permission to bathe. 
There were, probably, a dozen or more in the crowd. We quickly 
undressed; scarcely speaking a word to each other, we joined in a 
general way in the sport and antics that soldiers love so much to 
indulge in when off duty. 

My wardrobe was done up in as small a bundle as was possible, 
and while the others were fully immersed in their sport, I slipped 
both bundles further down the shore; my friend watching the 
movement from among the crowd. At a hint from me he swam 
down the stream and, quickly picking up the two bundles in the 
darkness that had now come upon us, safely towed them to the 
other shore, where he waited for me. I joined him as soon as pos¬ 
sible, without being missed; we hastily dressed and ran back from 
the bank into the bushes to finish our toilets, and take an observa¬ 
tion and both laughing at our success in escaping from our friends. 

We thought it best to avoid the public roads after passing our 
pickets, so kept to the fields and woods, we cautiously moving along, 
stopping every now and then to listen and peer through the dark¬ 
ness for some signs of life. We crossed field after field and passed 
through strips of woods that seemed to be miles in extent, care¬ 
fully avoiding all houses in our path. 

The tramp became lonesome and tiresome—our nerves were at 
the highest tension, as we expected at every step to meet with 
something, we didn't know exactly what. Without a sign of any- 


thing alive except the crickets and frogs, we finally became indifief- 
cut and careless, having about concluded in our own minds that 
the rebels had left that part of Virginia. One fact was certainly 
established early in the scout, there were no signs of an enemy in 
General Patterson’s immediate front that night, and probably there 
had not been any regular force near him for several days ; yet every 
soldier in our army was positive that the woods right in front of 
them where we had been tramping were full of rebels. General 
Patterson’s official reports will show that he entertained this errone¬ 
ous opinion; yet he had no desire to avail himself of the service of 
scouts. 

Becoming convincd that we should not meet with any opposition, 
we became bolder the further we went, and at last took the public 
road, trotted along leisurely without much attempt at concealment 
for some distance; we had almost became disgusted, not meeting 
with any fun, when we stumbled right into a barricade, which had 
been placed across the public highway by the rebels. Luckily for 
the two foolish scouts, the enemy was not there to secure the game 
that had blundered into their trap. 

It is doubtful if it had ever been occupied at all, being probably 
placed in that position as a blind. This blockade, however, would 
have answered the purpose of obstructing, for awhile at least, a cav¬ 
alry raid, or charge. Most likely it had been placed there to pro¬ 
tect a retreating army. 

It did not have the effect of stopping us, however, and we moved 
on further south. As we emerged from a deep wood, we were at 
last rewarded by seeing a light on the top of the hill beyond, but 
yet some distance to the side of the road; we made this out to be a 
light in the window of some farm-house, but my comrade, who was 
a farmer boy, suggested that it Wasn’t the right thing for a farm¬ 
house to be lighted up that way at midnight. 

Looking at it from our uncertain standpoint, we concluded to 
approach it cautiously and see if there were anybody stirring around 
about the light. 

Climbing over the fence into the field, we approached that light 
by the cautious, engineering tactics, using a zigzag stake and rider 
fence for our sap. For the first time, that night we felt for our 
pistols, which were the only weapons we had. The oppressive 





THE BOY SPY\ 


97 


silence was broken by my farmer comrade’s voice startling me by a 
husky. 

“I’ll bet we’ll find the dogs at home, anyway.” 

We crawled up that fence in single line, heads and bodies bent, 
something after the style of pictures of Indians about to attack a 
pioneer’s log house. Stealthily we moved along, pausing every 
moment or two to listen and look about. We had some dispute as 
to which of us should take the advance. I reasoned with my friend 
that he was the better countryman, and more familiar with stake- 
and-rider fences and dogs than I; that it was his place to go ahead; 
but he wouldn’t have it that way, insisting that I was the captain 
and must lead; so I reluctantly went ahead, insisting that he should 
follow his leader close enough to be touched. While talking in 
hushed voices, I stepped abruptly right onto something soft and 
round, which jumped up as suddenly as if I had loosed a spring, 
and with an unearthly snort and grunt began to scamper off. I was 
so startled, and became so nervous from the suddeness of the encoun¬ 
ter, that I must have jumped around as quickly as an automaton 
pulled by a string—my comrade being close to me, as directed. I 
had by my quick turn knocked my head square against his with such 
force that we were both stunned. It was only an old hog that we 
had roused from the innocent sleep of the country, which, at any 
other time, would have been awfully funny, but we were both too 
badly hurt to laugh, and too much scared to swear out loud. 

This one hog started up some others, the whole herd scampering 
over the fields snorting, which in turn routed out the dogs from 
the house, that came tearing out toward the sounds. Luckily 
enough, there was a picket or garden fence between us and the 
3louse, which the dogs didn’t get over, and, before they got around 
it, their attention was drawn away from our location toward the 
hogs that were still running away from us. While my companion 
and I were comparing notes we were further startled by hearing 
a soud of voices, which were apparently coming from the same 
direction we had just passed over. Now we were in for it. There 
were dogs in front of us, hogs to the side of us, and voices to the 
rear of us. 

The lights at the house had disappeared suddenly when the 
dogs began their uproar—there was nothing to be seen except the 


98 


TEE BOY SPY . 


outlines of the grove surrounding the house. While breathlessly 
considering what would be the next best move, the sound of voices 
was again heard, seemingly closer this time. Straining every faculty, 
I imagined that I could also distinguish footsteps; that there were 
more than one person was evident from the conversation; but 
whether they were colored boys, returning from a night out, or 
white men and enemies who, like ourselves, were on a scout, armed 
and liable to go off at half-cock on the slightest provocation, was 
the one thing we would have given anything to have found out. 

We couldn’t run, as our retreat was cut off, and, if we moved at 
all, we were likely to start up the pack of infernal dogs, so we did 
the only thing possible under the circumstances—kept still. 

The footsteps came on up the road, the voices getting closer. 
We made out that there were three persons, all talking earnestly 
together. If they had discovered us we would probably have carried 
out the Maryland refugee plan, and have joined them and have 
escaped detection. But what if they should he our own men? 

I imagine that I can hear better with my hat off, so putting my head 
close to the ground, and in such a position that I could see over the 
lower fence rail, I waited with beating heart the coming footsteps. 
It was soon evident that they were talking about the light in the 
house that had disappeared, and I soon learned from the voices and 
the language used that they Avere not colored men. As the trio 
came nearer, one voice said: 

“Well, we’d better Avait right here.” 

“Oh, it’s all safe enough; let’s go on!” 

“But,” said the first speaker, “they said not to come to the 
house at night, unless there Avas a candle light in that far-corner 
Avindow.” 

The third, who had not yet spoken, Avas nearest me, and 
was looking into the field right over Avhere I lay. I thought that 
through the darkness, to Avhich our eyes had become accustomed, 
that I recognized a face and form that I had met some place, but 
Tas not able to clearly distinguish. 

While there had been nothing said to indicate their errand, it 
became pretty clear from these Avords that they were enemies, as 
there was apparently an understanding about the light in the 
window. 


'THE' BUY SPY, 


99 


Was it possible that there were other men from the house skir¬ 
mishing around in the darkness to our rear, and aided with guns 
and those dogs, would they run us down? 

The third person, stepping a little in advance of the others, said: 
“ Get back to the fence; there's somebody up on the road." 

They scattered, and in a moment more suppressed voices were 
heard coming from an opposite direction, or down the road. 

We were between two enemies, but, fortunately, for us, on the 
opposite side and behind a big fence crouching in some elderberry 
bushes. My companion, as still as a log, was probably, like myself, 
so badly scared that he couldn't trust his voice to whisper a 
thought. 

Two men—one in his shirt sleeves, and the other in rebel uni¬ 
form, which I so well recognized, as the same old grey I had been 
familiar with at Pensacola and Montgomery, came cautiously down 
the road. As they were almost directly opposite me, one of the three 
who had come up the hill, accosted them familiarly: 

“ Helloa, Billy; you like to scairt us to death. I thought the 
Yankees had put you and your light out sure." 

At once there was mutual hand-shaking, laughter and general 
hilarity, that served to draw attention away from ourselves and the 
dogs. The man in his shirt-sleeves explained that he had kept his 
light in the window all right, until a little while previously, when 
the dogs scared up something, and he took it down, until he was 
sure everything was all right. 

So here was a signal station, and a rendezvous. I took courage 
when the party began to move off toward the house, and, as they 
passed my loophole, I discovered, to my astonishment, that one of 
the three who had come up the road ivas none other than the young 
man I had seen in General Patterson's headquarters, accompanying 
the old gentleman, and both of whom were so cordially entertained 
by our General's staff. Here he was, a direct messenger from head¬ 
quarters of our army, meeting, by a concerted signal, aRebel officer 
in the enemy's country. 

That was news, sure enough; and they had hardly gotten out of 
sight before I shocked my torpid friend as. I, with an emphasis he 
did not understand, told him that we must both skin back to our 
army headquarters at once . 


100 


TEE BOY SPY. 


I wouldn’t leave him to return alone with such important infor¬ 
mation, but together we would go direct to General Patterson’s 
presence, and tell him that there were no Rebels confronting him; 
that the enemy had positive and direct information of his position 
and probable plans. 

“ The best laid plans of mice and men, gang aft agley.” 

As previously indicated, I had intended to go straight through 
the rebel armies to Manassas, and so on to Washington via General 
McDowell’s army and the Long Bridge. In pursuance of this plan, 
we had cleverly escaped from our own pickets during the early 
hours of the night, successfully tramped miles into theRebels’ coun¬ 
try without meeting a challenge—eluding any pickets or outlooks 
the rebels may have had out, by a careful avoidance of all the roads 
or other usual routes of travel. But I had no intention of putting 
myself any closer to the fellow whom I had met the day previously 
at General Patterson’s headquarters, and whom I had just discovered 
to be aRebel spy, in communication with the man in the rebel uni¬ 
form, and the farmer in his shirt-sleeves. Had I tried the Maryland 
refugee dodge on this gathering of scouts, who were familiar with 
all the border, he would have recalled having seen me at General 
Patterson’s headquarters, and'an explanation would have been em- 
barassing. 

Luckily for the two scouts, who were lying in the bushes 
within sound of their voices, there was such an exuberance of good 
feeling among themselves over their meeting, after the little scare, 
that it had the effect of putting the entire party off their guard 
for the moment. No attention was paid to the antics of the dogs, 
which were whining and nosing around, uncomfortably close to our 
hiding-place in the fence-corner. The farmer, growing impatient 
at their noises, which interfered with the conversation; greatly to 
our relief, drove them back toward the house. 

The only enemy we had expected to find were the rebel soldiers 
in gray uniform, with muskets in their hands, standing on guard. 
We had not calculated on their, 

“ Letting slip the dogs of war,” 

or eRe we might have provided ourselves with a few poisoned dog 


TUP! BOY SPY. 


10t 

buttons; of course, we couldn't use our pistols on the dogs, as that 
would jeopardize our lives; the report would arouse the country 
and locate us; so, like Lear, 

“ Mine enemy’s dog, 

Though lie had bit me, should have stood that night 
Against my fire.” 

The five men and the—I don't know how many dogs—had 
scarcely gotten out of sight when my comrade and I energetically 
started on the hack track. I am ready to admit that we ran, that 
we ran fast, even though we didn't see where we were going, in the 
dark; and I confess that I was in the lead, but my comrade kept 
up with me pretty well. We ran over the soft, grassy fields in 
the direction from whence we had come, for a long time without 
either of us speaking a word. When nearly out of breath and 
exhausted we let up a little, to get our second wind for the final run, 
if any more miserable dogs should get onto our scent. 

“Say,” gasped my comrade, breathing hard, “I think you cut 
my head open when you jumped onto me, when that hog scared 
you ; it’s all bloody, ain't it ?” 

I didn't stop long enough then to examine his head ; I was in too 
much of a hurry, and, besides, it was too dark to distinguish blood. 

I replied to him rather testily, perhaps, as I didn't quite relish the 
reminder of being scared by a sleeping hog. 

“ I wasn't scared at all—just merely startled —and if you hadn't 
been holding onto my coat tails so closely, you wouldn't have been 
hurt.” 

“ Oh, hell! did’t you tell me to keep close to you?” he retorted, 
savagely, as he rubbed his head, and looked at the moist hand to see 
if lie could distinguish the color of blood. 

“ And you wouldn't go ahead, either, unless I was right on top 
of you, and, if I did get behind a little, you stopped for me to catch 
up.” 

I forged on ahead sullenly, too mad to continue the conversa¬ 
tion further, except to say, petulantly: 

“I believe I am bleeding at the temple myself, from having 
bumped your thick head so hard when I turned round to caution 
you not to tramp on that hog." 


102 


THE BOY SPY. 

But my companion was in too bad a humor—we both were-—to 
laugh over the ridiculous mishap, which I am sure was as painful to 
myself as to him. We trudged along in the dark in sulky silence 
for some distance further, each nursing his sore head in wrath. 

I ventured the suggestion, by way of a compromise to my cross 
companion, that if he had taken the lead in our approach to the 
house, as I had earnestly urged upon him, I might have been in as 
bad a fix as himself. To this offer of a compromise he curtly 
replied: 

“No; I wouldn't have tried to jump out of my skin, just 
because I had kicked a sleeping sow in a fence corner." He had 
scarcely finished speaking when he stumbled square across the back 
of an old cow, that was quietly lying in the grass chewing her cud; 
but cows, you know, are not so sudden in their movements as hogs, 
when they are startled out of their sleep. This one, anyway, didn't 
make any unearthly noise or snorts, nor attempt to jump up and 
run off, but lay still, quietly chewing away, apparently perfectly 
unconcerned. 

I believe she would have allowed a whole army to have crawled 
over her without disturbing her repose, but the incident served to 
put us both in a laughing humor. I concluded, however, that I'd 
had enough experience with the hogs and cows of Virginia, while we 
were trying to navigate the fields, and I would take to the highway 
and risk the short cut back. 

The night was dark, very dark, having become more so than 
when we Avere on the way out. Clouds had obscured almost every 
star, and, to make it still worse, we heard at times distant thunder. 
“ The lowering elements scowled o'er the already darkened landscape," 
compelling us to almost grope our way along the old country 
road; but, luckily for us, we were now on the broad, well-traveled 
country road between two lines of fence, which served to keep us in 
the right course, as we cautiously felt our way with outstretched 
hands, and eyes peering into the darkness ahead, fearing every 
moment to come in contact with something that would give us 
another “start." 

To the sounds of the thunder, which were not now so remote, 
were added occasional flashes of lightning; these, had I been at home 
in a comfortable bed, would probably have only produced the agree- 


THE BOY SPY. 


103 


wule influence of lulling me into the enjoyment of a more snug 
sleep, but out there, on that road that night, the effect was quite 
different on both of us. 

e were yet a long way from our camp—how far we had no 
means of knowing, as our route into Virginia had been somewhat 
circuitous, on account of the necessary aviodance of all the roads. 

Pretty soon the big drops began to fall over us; the lightning 
flashes were more vivid and frequent; the thunder seemed to be all 
around us; then it rained in earnest, an old-fashioned, Virginia, 
summei'-nighPs rain, wetting the two miserable scouts to the skin 
in a little while. It was no use to look for shelter, and we both reso¬ 
lutely made up our minds to grin and bear it; pulling our hats 
down and shrugging up our shoulders, we sullenly tramped along that 
Virginia highway, two as forlorn-looking objects as may be 
imagined. 

In this frame of mind we stumbled right into another road 
obstruction. We had come upon it in this raging storm from the 
rear, and found the place vacant. We captured the fort, which we 
could see from the now frequent flashes of lightning was simply a 
slight mound of earth thrown across and extending some distance 
to each side of the road, in the form of a rifle pit; embrasures were 
made for cannon, and through one of these peered a log, or stick 
of wood, shaped like an iron cannon, the rear end or breech of 
which was supported on a saw-horse platform of crossed sticks. On 
the crest of their “ works” were placed some fence rails, while in 
front, and some little distance down, some trees had been felled 
over the road, their branches being stripped of the leaves to answer 
the purpose of an abatis. In the darkness, we were unable to 
discover any signs of the place having ever been occupied by the 
rebel forces. 

My companion recklessly began striking matches, which he had 
been able to keep in a dry place on his person, but, luckily for us, 
perhaps, had there been any one set to watch the place, and who 
might be only seeking a temporary shelter from the storm, his 
attempts to illuminate were frustrated by the gusts of wind and 
rain, which blew the light out as quickly as it was born. 

Tired, wet, hungry and disgusted with ourselves, we sat down 
there in the enemies camp to rest—if sitting on a log in a blind- 


TEE BOY SPY. 


m 

ing rain-storm for an liour may be called resting—but we could do 
nothing else; the night was too dreadfully dark, and the wind and 
rain too blustering to allow us to safely travel on the winding roads, 
which lead through long strips of woods that seemed to paint every¬ 
thing, if possible, with a deeper gloom; beside this, wo had discov¬ 
ered, by the lightning flashes, that the road in our front was block¬ 
aded by fallen trees, and the thought occurred to us that on this 
road there might be someRebel guards seeking protection from the 
storm in some sheltered places. 

My companion was so utterly discomfited and dejected that he 
refused positively to move a step further, saying: 

“ Fm going to stay right here till somebody comes and takes me 
away. I don’t care whether its Rebels or not.” 

So we held the fort, he finally succeeding in lighting up a little 
fire against and under an old log that had covered some little twigs 
from the storm. 

“There’s no danger of anybody coming out here to-night to see 
our fire, or bother us,” said my comrade. “No body would be as 
foolish as we are, to be caught out to-night.” 

If we had been surprised in that condition, it’s probable enough 
we could easily have palmed olf the Maryland refugee story, and 
have obtained credit for our self-sacrificing devotion, in trying to 
overcome such dreary difficulties in getting into the Confederate 
lines. 

I reasoned that this would be all right for him, if I were only 
sure of not running across the chap who had seen me at General 
Patterson’s headquarters while I was presenting a letter from the 
Secretary of War proposing the spy service. My companion, who 
had not so much to risk, continued growling: 

“Why, if we should get to the river, or run across some of our 
pickets in this darkness, they’d be sure to go olf at half-cock, and 
shoot us before we had a chance to say beans.” 

This was a convincing argument with me. We were still 
between two fires. I agreed to wait for more light. I was anxious, 
however, that our officers should have the information we had 
obtained—that General Joseph E. Johnston’s army was not in Gen¬ 
eral Patterson’s front, and the dreadful masked batteries, which 
were so much feared by our generals, were merely bush fortresses. 


THE BOY SPY. 


105 


thrown across the roads, or laid out shrewdly to deceive our officers. 
There were hq soldiers and no cannon near them; and, moreover, 
the enemy was in communication direct with Gerieral Patterson's 
headquarters , as we could prove, and probably knew all his plans, 
while he was wholly ignorant of the probable escape of Johnston's 
whole force. 

As I sat there, like a disconsolate toad, on that log, in the pelt¬ 
ing rain, I pondered these things in my mind, until I became so 
nervous that I could scarcely keep still. Every moment was valu¬ 
able. I determined to start again as soon as the rain would let up 
a little. But the elements seemed to be against us; it not only 
rained, but it poured, for the balance of the night, making the 
daylight later than usual. 

My companion became sleepy and dreadfully stupid, and was 
apparently lost.to all fear for his own safety. My time was pretty 
much occupied in trying to keej) our little bit of lire from going out. 
Before I was fully aware of it, the grey daylight was mixing with 
the black, which was beginning to thin out as the rain slackened 
off somewhat. I soon began to distinguish objects in the landscape 
short distances away. A large farmhouse situated only a short dis¬ 
tance to our rear was revealed, but being off the road, as is the 
custom in that country, we had passed it in our tramp along the 
road during the night. 

If there were any guard at all for that place, they were probably 
comfortably housed there while the storm raged without, but they 
would probably be aroused bright and early in the morning, to look 
after their wooden guns. I kept my eyes strained toward this house 
for some sign of life, but not seeing anything, not even smoke 
from the chimneys, nor a dog in the yard, I turned wearily for a 
lookout in the direction of our own country, to try and discover, 
if possible, how far we were yet from our friends. 

The rain had now ceased. My comrade, leaning against a log, 
was sleeping out loud; he didn't present a particularly attractive 
appearance, either; though a handsome young fellow, with black 
hair and eyes, and a fine form, he certainly was not a sleeping beauty; 
but, lying against a smoky old log, his eyes closed, but a capacious 
mouth hung wide enough open to have answered for the mouth of 
a cannon, the whole side of his face smeared with blood, that had 


THE BO 7 SPY. 


106 

oozed from tlie head, after the concussion over the hog, while the 
other half of his handsome face, being next to the smoky fire, over 
which lie had been nodding in his sleep, was begrimed with the 
smoke and ashes that had adhered to his wet skin; the wet, drip¬ 
ping clothes were, of course, clinging to his manly form in any¬ 
thing hut an attractive style. I felt that if I were nearly as ugly as 
he, the appearance of two such objects would be sufficient to frighten 
off anybody that might approach us, and I took renewed courage 
from this fact. 

I turned from the contemplation of this ludicrous scene to again 
take an observation. In the direction of our lines this time I thought 
I discovered something moving along the edge of the wood. I was 
about to conclude that I had been mistaken, when I was startled by 
the appearance of two men, standing together some distance below, 
apparently talking earnestly, as one of them pointed up the road 
toward our Fort. 

I was in a condition of mind and body to be chilled by anything at 
that time, and imagined that we had been discovered and were being 
surrounded to prevent our escape. Running back to my partner, I 
roughly shook him up, saying we had to move quickly. The stupid 
fellow, opening one eye, refused to stir. Giving him another good 
shake, I again repeated the warning. He slowly realized his posi¬ 
tion, and stared wildly about. 

I dragged him over to where he might see the two men who were 
standing down the road, and endeavored to point out the danger; 
apparently not yet fully awake, he cooly crawled up on the felled 
tree, which was lying across the road, as if to get a better look at 
them, before I could pull him down. We were in for a run or a 
fight sure. I suppose my freely-expressed indignation at his absurd 
conduct had the effect of rousing him from his lethargy, as he 
seemed suddenly to come to his senses and was now ready to move 
off quickly enough. 

To be caught by the Rebels attempting to go toward our line 
would put us in a bad plight. The men whom we had seen had 
disappeared at this ugly apparition on the log as suddenly as if the 
ground had opened and swallowed them up; whether they would 
come on up, or go for reinforcements, we didn’t know. 

We evacuated that fort, our line of retreat being in a course 


THE BOY SPY. 


107 


bearing toward our own lines, and leading us further from the two 
men. 

We scampered through the wet underbrush and grass of the 
woods, every step being a slosh to the shoe-tops, while -every bush 
dashed against our already well-soaked clothes all the water it had 
gathered in its leaves and branches from the rain of the night. 

Early morning is the safest time for a scout to do his traveling, 
and we went straight along unimpeded, save by the wet under¬ 
growth, and the disagreeable necessity of clambering over slimy old 
logs and fences, reaching the place where our pickets should have 
been while it was yet quite early. Here we made a mistake. Instead 
of attempting to pass back through our lines, as we had escaped out 
in the early evening previous, we thought that, being so tired, and 
wet, hungry, and so generally used-up, we might just as well ap¬ 
proach boldly and surrender to our own pickets, knowing that we 
should be all right when once within our lines and our story of 
Johnston’s retreat was told. 

My companion being a member of a regiment that had per¬ 
formed picket duty, had some practical experience with the boys, 
and was, in consequence, quite uncertain as to the manner in 
which our flag-of-truce would be received by the men on guard; 
he said that, while on that duty himself, his instructions were to 
“ fire at anything he saw moving, no matter what it was,” and 
he was apprehensive the members of his own regiment would 
immediately bang away at us if we made an appearance out there. 

“But, we will show them a flag-of-truce. 

‘ ‘ Oh, that’s nothing; there’s some fellows in my company crazy 
to shoot at something, and they don’t know a white from a black 
flag.” 

As it was daylight, there was no other way to get in, except by 
laying over in the woods till night, and this we couldn’t think of 
doing in our miserable condition; beside this, we were hungry. 

Eeeling it to be a duty to risk even a fire from our own green 
pickets, to get in quickly with our information for General Patter¬ 
son, I concluded to try the flag-of-truce project. Looking carefully 
about to see that we were not liable to an attack in the rear while 
making this advance, I picked up a stick in the woods, and tied to 
it, in the form of a flag, an exceedingly dirty, white handkerchief. 


108 


TEE BOY SPY. 


and, after all was ready, with my hat in one hand, the flag well 
advanced in the other, I started out to make the communication, 
my comrade keeping close to me, there being no danger of tramping 
on a hog in broad daylight. 

We had scarcely gotten out of the woods when I began waving 
the old handkerchief so wildly that the stick broke in two, dropping 
the flag on the ground. I grabbed up the remnant, nervously, for fear 
they might fire, and again waved it as we moved forward. We saw 
a commotion among our men—one or two blue coats were running 
around, as if to report the phenomenon that appeared before them. 
Walking ahead more rapidly, as we gained confidence from their not 
shooting at us, we were soon wifhin hailing distance, and walked 
into their line nervously, and watched a half dozen fellows clutching 
muskets which we knew were loaded, and might go off. Suddenly 
we were surrounded by all the guard who were not on post, 
who were anxious to see some real live, repentant rebels come into 
the Union again. That army had not yet seen a Rebel. 

What a sorry looking couple we were to be sure. Dirty faces, 
and bloody heads, smoked about the eyes in a manner to make us 
ludicious indeed, our clothes wet, dripping wet; and clinging to our 
bodies in rags, our tramp through the bushes having almost torn 
them off us. 

The boys were cooking their early camp breakfast; through their 
kindness we each had some coffee and bread. I am a coffee-drinker 
now, and am, perhaps, a little cranky on the subject. I buy the best 
coffee, and have tried every patent coffee-pot that has ever been 
brought out, but I have not yet been able to find as delicious a cup of 
the beverage as was given me in a quart tin cup, with brown sugar 
and no cream, on the banks of the Potomac, in July, 1861. 

While we were enjoying the hospitality of the boys, all of whom 
were greatly amused at our absurd appearance, and interested in 
our night’s adventure, which my companion could not resist the 
temptation of exaggerating to his friends, the officer of the guard 
had reported his catch to his colonel, who peremptorily ordered us 
into his presence. Without allowing us an opportunity to wash or 
clean up, we were marched, like two prisoners, between two files of 
soldiers with fixed bayonets, through several camps, amid the laugh¬ 
ter and jeers of the crowds which were attracted by the odd show. 


THE bOY SPY, 


109 


Approaching the Pennsylvania-Dutch Colonel’s tent, we were 
ordered, in a rough, dogmatic way, to make an explanation of our 
being in the enemy’s lines. I was offended at the rude manner of 
the officer, and my feelings had been sorely wounded by being 
marched in this humiliating way through his camp; being resent¬ 
ful, I spunkily informed the Colonel that I should not report or cx- 
plain anything to him; that my report would be to his superior 
only —General Patterson. 

A crowd had gathered about us, whom the arrogant Colonel had 
proposed to entertain by an exhibition of his authority and our dis¬ 
comfiture, and my speech so angered him that he was ready to run 
me through with his sword. He swore in Pennsylvania-Dutch, and 
again demanded my explanation, which I firmly declined to give. 

He was too angry to appeal to my comrade, but, in high military 
dudgeon, ordered us both to the guard-house, saying to the officer 
who had brought us there : 

“ Those two men had been on a drunk, and had been fighting 
each other, as any fool could see from their black eyes and bloody 
noses—put them both in the guard-house; ” and he did. 

There we remained nearly all that day, denied, by the stupidity 
and offended dignity of the Colonel, the permission I begged of 
deing allowed to communicate with General Patterson. 

1 presume he sincerely believed we had been off on a regular 
jamboree en tare during the night, but it was a terribly rough joke 
on me, and the second time during the first four months of the war 
that I had been held a prisoner by our own officers while engaged 
in the performance of an exceedingly dangerous duty for the bene¬ 
fit of the Union cause. I again resolved, in my own mind, more 
firmly than before, that I should never again undertake any secret 
service. 

My interview with General Patterson’s Chief-of-staff—Fitz-John 
Porter—on presentation of my note of introduction from the Secre¬ 
tary of War, had been so unsatisfactor}’, that I naturally felt some 
misgivings as to the outcome of a second attempt in the same direc¬ 
tion, particularly as this trip had not been authorized, but was, in 
fact, carried out independently and almost in opposition to the 
expressed disapproval of headquarters. 

I felt, too, that being escorted to the General’s presence, between 


110 


THE BOY SPY 


two soldiers from a guard-house, without the opportunity to repaii 
my dress and appearance, would not help the doubting and disdain¬ 
ful Chief-of-staff to a more favorable opinion of myself; and tho 
recommendation the Dutch Colonel would be sure to send along 
with me would not be likely to create in the minds of the General’s 
advisors a flattering opinion as to the reliability of our story. 

I could get no satisfaction from the officers in charge at the 
guard-house as to our ultimate disposition. In reply to my appeals 
to be permitted to report to headquarters in person, I was directed 
to state my case in writing, and it would be forwarded through the 
regular channels. I knew very well that this circumlocution meant 
delay—that in this case delays would be dangerous, as any papers 
filed would have to be inspected by the officer of the guard, the 
captain, colonel, brigadier and major general, probably requiring a 
day at each of these headquarters before it would reach the Assist¬ 
ant-adjutant-general at headquarters. 

Beside, I had no intention of submitting my special business to 
an inspection by every officer in camp before it should reach the 
proper authority, and so informed the officer who had been sent by 
the Colonel to obtain from me information as to my business with 
the General. 

My comrade had been separated from me early in the day, and 
sent to his own company in arrest and disgrace; he had probably 
told his story to his own officers, who, knowing something of the 
young man, believed him, and in this way my case, which promised 
to be a lonely imprisonment for some days, was more speedily 
brought to the General’s notice. 

The young officer whq. had been sent to gather from me the 
account of our trip seemed to be favorably impressed by my urgent 
prayer to be permitted to report to General Patterson, and kindly 
offered to do all he could to gratify my desire. It was a long time, 
however, before I was able to hear from anybody outside of the sen¬ 
try, who stood guard over me with a loaded musket. 

During all those anxiously waiting hours, when I lay in the 
guard-house, Rebel General J. E. Johnston was rapidly getting fur¬ 
ther away, or at least making himself more secure with fewer 
troops in his present position, and I was brutally denied the privi¬ 
lege of informing our headquarters of the facts we had obtained. 


THE BOY SPY. 


Ill 


after a night of hard work, danger and misery combined. At last, 
about 4 r. M., I was notified to accompany my young officer to 
headquarters, to report. The young gentleman courteously granted 
me the privilege of washing and dressing myself up in the best way 
I could — he generously aiding me by the tender of a collar, brushes, 
etc. After a long walk, which was quite tiresome after the exer¬ 
cise of the night previous in the rain, we reached headquarters, 
where I Avas met at once by General Porter, Avho j)olitely enough 
heard my story through, questioning me closely as to several points 
in a manner Avhich, I augured, showed some interest in the Avork 
we had undertaken. 

With a simple word of thanks he Avas ready to dismiss me, and 
the subject, as a matter of no consequence, when I ventured to ask 
his opinion as to the value of our researches. 

“Well,” he replied, “as I told you previously, the General does 
not place any reliance upon information of this character; avc have 
' had conflicting reports, and do not rely upon it.” 

“But,” I said, “it is undoubtedly true that there are no rebels 
near us.” 

“ But Ave have reliable information to the contrary, and more 
recent than yours.” 

This was indeed a stunner. How could it be. I Avas positive 
there had been no enemy near during the night, and mildly sug¬ 
gested that, if there Avere any Bebels there, they had come while I 
was confined in the Dutch ColonePs guard-house. 

Porter merely laughed in a patronizing Avay, as he dismissed me, 
saying: 

“You can make that report to Washington; it won't do here. 
We know all about Johnston.” 

“Well, one thing is sure, Johnston knows all about you, too.” 

I left headquarters in a frame of mind closely allied to frenzy, 
I Avas beginning to think that I must be crazy, because the general 
headquarter's atmosphere and style seemed to have about it an air 
of authority that could not be disputed ; and Avhen Porter said he 
had information, reliable and more recent than I had tried to give 
I began to feel that he must be right, and we all wrong. 

Walking off, dejectedly, but again free to go as I pleased, I 
hunted up my companion of the night before, to offer any assistance 


THE BOY SPY. 


AS 

in my power to secure his release from confinement. I found his 
company, and had a general consultation with him, in the presence 
of some line officers, in which it was agreed that our report of the 
situation was generally believed throughout the army; but, said my 
comrade: 

“ There were two other fellows out last night, and they came 
back right after we did, and reported that they had found a big Fort 
on top of a hill; that there were camp fires blazing all around it 5 and 
six men jumped up on the works and chased them two miles. 

It flashed upon me in a moment, and I said, laughingly : 

“ Why they must be the two fellows we saw while in the Fort, 
and that you scared off when you got up on that log.” 

After a further comparison of notes, it was agreed by all that 
this was the more reliable and recent information General Porter 
had obtained. Our little smoky fire had been magnified into a 
hundred rebel camp fires, and the blunder of my comrade in 
mounting the parapet had turned to our benefit, in frightening off 
two of our own scouts. We were not aware, however, that we had 
chased them through the wet woods—it'being our purpose and intent 
to run away from them ; and we believed we were going in an oppo¬ 
site direction all the time. 

I was abundantly satisfied with the night and day's experience ; 
and leaving my friend to make any further explanations to General 
Porter, or headquarters, I availed myself of the opportunity to take 
an evening train, which carried me to Chambersburg, where among 
relatives and friends I was able to replenish my scanty wardrobe. 

The following Sunday, First Bull Run was fought and lost. 

There have been many reasons given the public, officially and 
otherwise, in explanation of this disaster, one of which has not 
been officially mentioned, and is in brief—that General Patterson, 
through his Chief-of-staff, persistently declined to avail himself of 
information concerning Johnston’s movements, that had been vol¬ 
untarily obtained, after some hardships, by a scout, who had been 
endorsed to him by the Secretary of War as being relible and trust¬ 
worthy. 

I have not seen General Fitz-John Porter since July, 1861, that 
I know of. We all know he was a gallant soldier, whom I should 
honor as a native of my own state; but, without questioning his 


THE DO Y SPY. 


US 


loyalty, I venture the opinion that General Patterson (who was 69 
years old at that time) was by his (Porter’s) influence or over-cau¬ 
tion prevented from pressing General Johnston, as he had been 
ordered; and is, therefore, indirectly, responsible for Johnston’s 
timely reinforcement of Beauregard, which made the rebel victory 
possible. 

And I believe the same over-caution or influence was brought to 
bear on General McClellan at the critical hour at Antietam, and 
prevented his following up the victory at that time. 


CHAPTER IX. 


REPORTING TO GENERAL BANKS* HEADQUARTERS FOR DUTY—THE 
LIFE OF JEFF DAYIS THREATENED—CAPTURED AT IIARPER*S 

FERRY—INTERESTING PERSONAL LETTERS CORROBORATING THE 

SUPPOSED DEATH OF THE “ BOY SPY.** 

The Sunday of July, 1861 (21st), on which the first battle of 
Bull Run was being fought, found me quietly recruiting from the 
tiresome adventure in Virginia in the quiet little hamlet of Penn¬ 
sylvania, in which I was born, situated at the foot of the Cove 
Mountain, almost within hearing of the cannon. 

I had gathered from General Porter’s manner as well as from 
his words, while talking to me only a day previous, that a battle 
was not imminent, and this opinion was seemingly confirmed bj 
my own observations both in the Rebel country and while coming 
through General Patterson's army. There were, to my mind, no 
signs of a movement among our forces ; the two armies were too far 
apart to be quarrelsome ; our headquarters presented an appearance 
of satisfied security. 

In our obscure village there were no telegraphs in those days, 
the mail facilities being limited to a daily trip of the relic or rem¬ 
nant of the old Bedford stage-coach, which rambled into town on 
the Monday evening following, and brought us the first intelligence 
of a battle—and a defeat which was being magnified every mile the 
old stage traveled into a terrible disaster. 

This startling news spread about the village like wild-fire, 
reached me at the tea-table, and, to my untrained, impulsive dis¬ 
position, had pretty much such an effect as the lighting the fuse 
of a sky-rocket. I went off like a sky-rocket—disappeared in the 
darkness that night, lost to the sight of my friends for months. 
The rocket hovered over the rebel hosts so long that I was almost 
forgotten in the excitement of the time. I came back as suddenly 
as I had left, like the stick from the rocket that drops down from 
ubove. 

It is the purpose to tell in this chapter, for the first time, the 

nu 


TEE BOY SPY. 


115 


secret story of those months in Rebeldom, which has remained a 
mystery even to my family for twenty-five years. I had never 
intended to print these experiences, but hoped that I might find 
time, when I should grow older, to prepare for my children only, a 
memorandum of the trip. 

An hour after the receipt of the news, I was en • route for the 
nearest railroad station, at Chambersburg, my first impression 
being that, as the rebels were victorious, they would, as a matter of 
course, move right on to Washington City and drive the Union 
officials off. 

Entertaining this feeling, my first impulse was to get somewhere 
in their rear. I felt in my heart that something must be done to 
prevent Beauregard and Jeff Davis from driving us all out of the 
country, and I was frenzied enough at that time, by the excitement 
that was everywhere prevailing—overcoming the reason and judg¬ 
ment of the most conservative as well as the mercurial tempera¬ 
ment—that, if an opportunity had presented itself, I might have 
been foolish enough to have Attempted an assassination of Jeff Davis, 
sincerely believing, in my youthful enthusiasm and indiscretion, 
that such an act would serve to defeat their plans. That I entertained 
seriously and determinedly such a chimerical scheme will probably 
be surprising to those of my acquaintances now, but the confession 
will serve in a manner to explain some of my movements, which, at 
the time, puzzled even my best friends, who generously accounted 
for my queer actions by the indulgent—if not complimentary— 
reflection that I was a “reckless and adventursome boy.” 

The same night I reached Chambersburg, and the next morning 
took the first train for Hagerstown, Maryland, where I learned there 
that Harper’s Ferry was headquarters; and, as there were no public 
conveyances leading in that direction, in my eagerness to reach 
there I decided to walk ahead the same day. 

I tramped out through the same neighborhoods in which our 
camps had been located only a few days before, finding them nearly 
all deserted, and in the evening reached a farmhouse on South 
Mountain, where, tired and sleepy after the fatigue and excitement 
of the day, I begged for shelter for the night, and was put to sleep 
in the garret with a son of the farmer, whom I found was in sym¬ 
pathy with the rebels. 


THE BOY SPY\ 


U6 


Early the following morning I was again on foot, climbing the 
dusty mountain road. It was a long, tiresome walk, and, as I met 
with no signs of troops, I began to fear that I had gotten off the 
right road; toward evening my path led me through a valley or 
ravine, emerging from which I was suddenly brought into view of 
the river and hills about Point of Rocks, or perhaps it may have 
been near Sandy Hook. Here I found plenty of soldiers, who were 
dotted around the hills so thickly. 

I had expected to report in person to General Eitz-John Porter, 
to gather further from him some advice as to the reliability of his 
more recent information about Johnston’s escape. I learned that 
General Patterson had been relieved. General N. P. Banks was in 
command, and had his headquarters in a tent on a little plateau 
above, but convenient to the railroad track and the river, from 
which he could look into the Virginia hills, which were within rifle¬ 
shot of his tent. 

I had no letter of introduction to General Banks, but, presum¬ 
ing upon my previous services, boldly ventured into his presence 
unannounced, except by the unarmed soldier who stood as an 
orderly outside of his tent. 

I was invited into the tent, where I found the General had been 
lounging or dozing on his camp bed. Rising, as I entered, he apolo¬ 
gized for the unkempt appearance of his quarters, shaking hands 
cordially as he invited me to a seat on a camp-stool. 

Then sitting in front of me, looking straight into my eyes, I 
told him briefly my past experience with Patterson and Porter. He 
listened attentively and commented, in his affable way, on the dis¬ 
aster, and expressed, in a way that was most comforting to me, his 
belief that it would all end right anyway. 

I explained to General Banks my supposed qualifications as a 
scout, being able to read the enemy's telegraphs, which immediately 
impressed him as quite an important feature, as it would enable mo 
to procure reliable news from the highest sources of all informa¬ 
tion. 

I again volunteered to enter the enemy's lines in the guise of a 
Maryland refugee and, if possible, attach myself to headquarters of 
Rebelsat Manassas, or where there were telegraph instruments, with¬ 
out, of course, disclosing my knowledge of the mysterious art, 


THE BOY SPY. 


117 


The General thankfully accepted my proposal, and seemed eager 
that the service should be undertaken at once. Ilis words to me, 
uttered in that deep but pleasant voice so familiar to American 
people: “Well, now, I am right glad you have come to see me, 
sir.” 

After a moment’s reflection, he continued : “I have no definite 
instructions now. I beg that you will be kind enough to come 
and see me in the morning again ; in the meantime I will try and 
arrange a plan.” 

I presume the General desired—very properly—to make some 
inquiries as to my loyalty and past service. As I prepared to leave, 
he again took my hand, and in a kindly manner, which impressed 
me so pleasantly that I shall never forget it, as he bowed me out of 
his tent. “ I am very glad too have met you, sir.” 

How different from the reception I received from General Pat¬ 
terson and his Chief-of-Staff. The balance of the evening I jiut in 
pleasantly enough after this agreeable reception in visiting the 
different camps in the neighborhood and in peering through the 
twilight over the Potomac toward the Virginia side, endeavoring to 
find a hole somewhere in the hills that I might get through safely. 

After the tiresome tramp on the dusty Maryland Pike, on that 
terrible hot July day, I was glad enough when night came to accept 
the supper and lodging that were offered—for a consideration—in 
an old half-stone and half-frame house, situated close by the river 
bank. 

The crowd of men who were gathered about the old house were 
dressing for dinner, or supper, out in the yard, using an old stump 
for a toilet stand and the lye soap (which had been manufactured 
by some sort of process through the barrel of ashes that stood on a 
sloping bench close by), and, throwing my hat and coat on the limb 
of a gooseberry bush, I plunged into the water, like the rest; but I 
reckon they all thought I was putting on airs when I declined to 
use the one towel that had served for all, using instead a dirty 
pocket handkerchief on my face. 

The next morning I was out bright and early. Unfortunately 
for me, but perhaps better for the story, I was just too late to see 
the General, who had ridden off but a few minutes before I reached 
his headquarters on a general tour of inspection through the army. 


118 


THE BOY SPY. 


The orderly did not know when he would return, or, if he did, was 
not disposed to tell a stranger of his intentions ; but, it was inti¬ 
mated that I should hardly be able to see him at headquarters again 
during the day. 

As I turned to walk away, undecided as to the next step I should 
have to take, an officer observed in a jocular way: “ You might 
see the General up there,” as he pointed to the highest peak of the 
hill. He imagined that the unforbidding appearance of this height 
would deter me from an attempt at climbing it, but the hint was 
sufficient. I at once made up my mind, excelsior like, to crawl over 
the rocks and blackberry bushes to the very top of the mountain 
to find the General, and, if he were not there, I should at least have 
the satisfaction of being able to see all over the country without 
walking any further. 

From the top of Maryland heights, while sitting alone a short 
distance in the rear of one of our masked batteries, the guns of 
which were pointed over the river so as to cover the broad plateau 
above the old town, I looked in vain for some appearance of rebels 
on the other side of the river. There was not to my eye, which I 
flattered myself was pretty good and educated to the sight of reb¬ 
els, any appearance of life, either on the valley side or on the oppo¬ 
site mountain, which were quite heavily wooded. 

I formed from that point of observation a plan to cross the river 
and climb up on the other hill or mountain, thinking, perhaps, I 
might have a more satisfactory outlook from that point. 

Not finding the General, I retraced my steps down the mountain 
\n the direction of the town of Harpers* Ferry. 

There was at that time a temporary railroad bridge over the 
Potomac, over which I was able to pass the guard on pretence of 
being a railroader. Once in the village, I looked about for an 
opportunity to get over the Shenandoah river, which was yet between 
me and the big hill I desired to climb. 

I had fully determined in my own mind, after the experience 
with the running mate or companion of the former adventure, that 
I should not attach myself to anyone or permit any association in 
future movements, but the pleasure of meeting with a pleasant 
friend overcame my resolution, and about the first thing I did after 
becoming well acquainted was to propose that we should together go 


THE BOY SPY. 


119 


over the Shenandoah and climb that big hill, to try if we couldn't 
“see something" by daylight. My newly found chum eagerly 
assented to the proposal, and, as I have previously said, for me to 
decide was to act, in those days. 

It was expected that we should be able to return before dark, 
and I hoped in an indefinite way that I might be able to bring back 
to General Banks, when I should see him in the evening, some 
information that would impress him with the idea that I was com¬ 
petent to undertake and to carry out the plan of going through our 
own and the enemy's lines to Washington. 

In my first talk with General Banks, to whom I was an entire 
stranger, he had made a remark about a decision to issue no author¬ 
ity to go outside of his lines, to which I had replied that I did not 
ask any passes; that, if he wanted to avail himself of the service, I 
should be able to get outside ours and inside the Rebels' lines, and 
did not want to carry any paper passes. 

My chum and I followed the same tactics in crossing the She¬ 
nandoah that we had practiced in crossing the Potomac on the former 
occasion. With an apparent intention of bathing we found a good 
place to “go in," as we boys used to say about swimming time ; 
undressing in a careless way, we were soon splashing about in the 
shallow water in sight of our pickets. It was a hot, sunny July 
day, and at our bathing place the sun poured down upon that por¬ 
tion of our bare skin that was exposed above the water his fiercest 
rays. This fact served as a pretext to ask the guard's permission 
to cross over to the shade on the other side. The permission was 
reluctantly obtained. 

Bundling up our clothes we waded over the slippery rocks, in 
sight of our picket on the shore. Once well over the river, which 
:is neither deep nor wide, we puttered about the other shore long 
enough to allow any one who had felt disposed to watch our move¬ 
ments to become satisfied that we were only out for a little fun. 

- During all this time, however, we had slowly, almost imperceptibly, 
moved further and further away; and, upon reaching a portion of 
the bank almost covered with willows and undergrowth, we silently 
stole away from the water, and, like a pair of guilty boys escaping 
from an orchard, we ran as fast as possible through the under- 


no 


THE BOY spy. 


growth along the side of a road which led up a little stream that 
emptied into the river. 

We were again in Virginia, but this time in daylight; and r 
hastily putting on our clothes, I, for the first time, took note of the 
unfortunate circumstance that my comrade's clothes were all of the 
regulation blue of the Union army, wdiich would be difficult to 
reconcile with our stereotyped story of being Maryland refugees, in 
case we should be captured. 

We satisfied our fears on this point by the hasty conceit that 
we were not going to be caught on this trip, as we only proposed to 
climb to the top of the big hill. 

Ascending Bolivar or London Heights is like climbing up the 
others, and has been well described. When we reached the summit, 
we found a clearing of a couple of acres which had the appearance 
of having been very recently occupied, and the discovery of the 
ashes and blackened places on the rocks where camp-fires had been 
—we knew not how recently—burning* served to make us the least 
bit nervous. We were disappointed in tiie expected view of the rebel - 
armies, as the heavy growth of trees in that direction wholly 
obstructed the view; but we were rewarded with a most atisfactory 
observation of our own troops and camps on the Maryland stVo of 
the river. 

Satisfied with having scaled the mountain, and a little bi r 
uneasy, we soon began our descent, taking a different course from 
that we had followed in coming up. 

When we had about reached the road that leads along the water 
at the base of the heights, my chum startled me by grabbing fran¬ 
tically at my leg as I was about to climb over the fence into the road, 
shrieking, like a scared girl: “ There's a man." And before I had 
time to look in the direction indicated, he continued, excitedly: 

“ Great Scott! there's a whole lot of them." 

He started to run back as fast as his legs would carry him, leav¬ 
ing me almost pinned to the fence with astonishment. 

His movement had the immediate effect of causing a half dozen 
armed men to rush suddenly from their ambush, straight down the 
road toward us. 

My companion, in grabbing me by the leg as a fierce dog would 
a tramp getting over the fence, for the moment so startled me that 



m 


’TSANK GOD. PM SAFE AMONG MY FRIENDS," 






























THE EOT SPY. 


m 

I lost my head, and, thinking something was coming at us from 
behind, I jumped over the fence toward the danger while he ran 
off on the other side. 

On finding myself confronted by three Rebels in uniform, tAvo 
of whom had guns, the third, being an officer, gesticulated in a 
threatening, inelegant sort of style with the hand in which he care¬ 
lessly held a cocked revolver; I at once walked toward them and, 
Avith a suddenly assumed air of relief, said : 

“Thank God, I am safe among my friends.” 

This vehement observation rather nonplussed the officer, who, 
seeing that I was unarmed, walked up to me and accepted my out¬ 
stretched hand in a dazed sort of way. He hurriedly directed the 
men to folloAv my entreating comrade, saying, as they ran down the 
road. 

“ Remember, now, you are not to fire unless you meet a lot.” 

I Avas rejoiced to hear this, and at once told the officer that my 
comrade, like myself, had intended to come into their army, but 
he was scared and ran because he thought they Avere our oAvn scouts. 

“ Are you both Yankee soldiers ?” 

I repulsed the base insinuation Avith scorn, and told him Ave were 
both dying to join the Rebel Army. 

“ But that felloAV has on the blue uniform.” 

Sure enough, I had forgotten all about that, but told him that 
Avas no difference—that half the men in Banks* Army Avere only wait¬ 
ing a favorable chance to come over and join them. The officer, 
who Avas a conceited felloA\ r , Avho had been placed in charge of the 
pickets or cavalry scouts on this outpost for the day, eagerly swal- 
loAved this stuff. It will be remembered that at this time—only a 
Aveek after their victory at Bull Run—the Rebels were prepared to 
believe almost anything reported to them from our side and were, 
of course, somewhat lax in their scrutiny of refugees, who Avere 
actually going over the line daily to unite their fortunes with those 
of the South, Avhom they were sure after the first battle must be vic¬ 
torious. 

We had quite a pleasant talk as we stood together by the 
roadside aAvaiting the result of the chase of my comrade. It Avas 
explained by the officer that their instructions Avere not to fire 
except in certain emergencies; the object of. their being there Avas 


THE BOY SPY. 


122 

to quietly observe the operations of the Yankees from their points 
of lookout on the heights, from which a full view of everything 
transpiring on our side was to be had. 

This was an item of news from the Rebel officer which I should 
like General Banks to have been advised of. He further astonished 
me by saying: 

“ We have been watching you two fellows all the afternoon; we 
saw you cross the rivef^ and when you came up the hill our men up 
there came in and reported that you were two scouts, and could 
be captured, so I was sent down here to gather you in." 

I was able to force what I am afraid was rather a sickly laugh 
at this exhibition of our “prowess," and, as a further earnest of 
our good intentions : I volunteered to accompany the officer down 
the road, with a view of meeting my running comrade and signal¬ 
ing him it would be all right to come in. 

Accepting this service, we walked rapidly together in the direc¬ 
tion taken by the two men with guns, but as all three had stopped 
to hear my story, my chum had probably been making good time 
along his side of the fence, which, with the undergrowth, had 
served to keep him out of sight, and had stretched the distance 
between him and the Rebels, but, as the river was still to ford, I 
feared, for my own safety, that he might yet be captured. 

We had not gone far when we met the two men returning alone. 
To the eager questioning of the officer the foremost one replied: 

“We been down to the river and he ain't thar." The second 
Rebel joining in, said: “That fellow's in the woods, sure—he never 
went to the river." 

After a little consultation, in which I took part, it was decided 
to wait and watch till he should come out of his hole. With a view 
to making myself more solid with the officer, I volunteered to assist 
in the hunt by proposing to call loudly on my friend to come out of 
his hiding place and join us. The proposition was, in a courteous 
manner, conditionally accepted, the officer being fearful that any 
loud calls might be heard by the Yankee's outposts and endanger 
their secluded outlooks, advised that I should be moderate in my 
outcry. Climbing up on the fence and putting both hands to my 
mouth to form the trumpet boys use when hallooing to their play¬ 
mates, I sang out as loudly as I could, “ H-e-l-l-o-o-a, B-o-b/" 


THE BOY SPY. 


123 


All eagerly listened for the echo in reply, but I, fearful that he 
might answer, continued in the next breath: 

“ All right,” and as I forced a little choking cough, to disguise 
and smother the words, like the robber in Fra Diavalo, “ Come 
on I” 

All waited quietly for an answer, but only the echo “on” came 
back. Bob was too far olf to have heard my voice, and I realized 
I had been left alone in the hands of the Rebels. I was a prisoner. 

There is among some old letters that my sister has religiously 
preserved—one from a stranger, signed with Bob's correct name and 
address, describing in feeling terms our adventure, and my capture, 
bewailing my sad fate, and tendering his heartfelt sympathy, pretty 
much in the same form of letters from comrades in the field, which 
became frequent in the families of the North and South announc¬ 
ing the death or capture of sons and brothers, in which it is stated 
that, as my companion heard'shots after he left me, and he sup¬ 
posed, of course, I had been killed. I may as well state that this 
letter was written by Mr. C. W. Hoffman, who is now a resident 
of Latrobe, Pennsylvania. 

Comrade Hoffman served subsequently with distinction as a 
scout, being detailed as one of a party to approach Fort Sumter 
previous to the attack made there. 

A pleasant renewal of the old war acquaintance has recently 
been brought about. I give herewith a recent letter from Mr. 
Hoffman: 

Latrobe, Penn., March 29, 1887. 

J. 0. Kerbey. 

J)ear Old Friend: I often thought of you. I learned your present address 
from your brother at Wilmore. What are you doing? Let us hear from you. 
I am he fellow that run away from you on the mountains, in Virginia, in 
August, 1861. I went on quite a distance that day. I slept on that mountain 
all night. The next day I returned to the hotel at Sandy Hook. I had quite 
a time of it: I saw several Rebel cavalry men, but I always made it a point to 
keep out of their way, as I had the blue pants and blouse on. Those fellows 
made their headquarters next to where you made the inquiries at the old 
woman’s log house. It was a wonder they did not take me a prisoner, as at 
times I wandered out in the country very barely. Wasn’t there a Rebel camp 
near Leesburg, or was that the name of the town near that mountain? I sup* 
pose it is about eight miles from Harper’s Ferry. I could hear drums beating 
plainly—I was not far from the town. I had quite a time of it when I returned 


m 


THE BOY SPY. 


to Sandy Hook—I was arrested as a spy, was thrown into the guard house, but 
finally got out all right. I was a scout and had papers to show to that effect, 
but never did much at it. Hoping to hear from you. 

Yours truly, C. W. Hoffman. 

As a further evidence of the correctness of my narrative, and 
with a view of adding interest to the story, I publish herewith a 
private letter from my brother, Spencer, who was at that time in 
the Military Telegraph Service. My aunt Ruth, to whom it was 
addressed, and who was a mother to us both, passed many sleepless 
nights on account of my wanderings, has recently resurrected some 
interesting testimonials. 

Camp Union, near Bladensburgii, Md., ) 
September 9th, 1861. f 

Bear Aunt: By some unaccountable reason your letter was delayed. It 
was handed me by an “orderly ” this evening. I presume it’s beyond the pos¬ 
sibility of a doubt that poor Joe was killed at Sandy Hook. My grief can 
better be imagined than described. None but those who have suffered the 
severing of ties of a loving brother’s affection can form an idea of my heart’s 
affliction. My dear sisters, how deeply and sincerely I sympathize with them 
in the deplorable loss of an ambitious brother. That letter must have almost 
broken Hatty’s heart. It must have been a violent shock to father, but why 
should I so write and rouse within all of you the bitter renewal of your grief ? 
We have for our support, that brother Joe fell nobly in the cause of his coun¬ 
try, lamented by an affectionate and loving family, relatives and friends. It is 
to be hoped that when the keen sensibilities of our passions begin to subside 
that these considerations will give us comfort. I pray that the Almighty may 
give us (particularly father) fortitude to bear this severest of strokes, is the 
earnest wish of a Brother in affliction, Spencer. 


CHAPTER X. 


AT BEAUREGARD’S HEADQUARTERS — OH DUTY AT MAHASSAS. 

I didn't report to General Banks that night — circumstances 
entirely beyond my control prevented me from doing so. I was, by 
the “fortunes of war/’ or my own carelessness, denied the privilege 
of proving to the General that I was “smart” enough to get 
through his own lines and back again from the enemy’s country 
without the use of passes from his headquarters. If this should 
reach the eye of General Banks, he will, for the first time, read my 
official report of the scout, which I had proposed to him in July, 
1861, and will, I am sure, in his courteous manner, accept, even at 
this late date, this apology or explanation for my failure to keep 
my engagement with him. 

Luckily for me, at that particular time I did not have in my 
possession any passes from General Banks, or letter of introduction 
from the Secretary of War, endorsing me as a competent spy. 
These I had left with General Patterson a few days previously. 

Leaving the two soldiers to further look after the road, in hope 
of enticing my friend in—not that they were so anxious for the 
person of a prisoner—but, as they said, it was important 710 one 
should escape to report the fact that a station for observation was 
being maintained on the heights. 

Alongside of my officer I walked for quite a long distance, talk¬ 
ing in a general way upon the subject which was then uppermost in 
everybody’s mind— i. e ., the recent battle of Bull Run. For good 
reasons, I heartily agreed with his absurd conclusions. I knew full 
well the importance of creating upon his mind the impression that 
I was a Iona fide refugee, and with the instinctive shrewdness 
partly born of my former experience I was successful in fully satis¬ 
fying the officer that the Southern army had secured another 
hearty supporter, or zealous recruit. It was scarcely possible to 
undo the thing at that time, as the whole South were wild in their 
enthusiasm after Bull Run, and to this fact I may partially ascribe 
my escape from detection and execution. 


THE BOT SPY. 


1S6 


The only fear that I entertained was, that I might meet either with 
some Maryland refugees who might cross-question me too closely, or 
perhaps I might again encounter the Rebel Spy I had met at Gen¬ 
eral Patterson’s headquarters; or, worst of all, that some of those 
Pensacola troops, or Texas acquaintances, might have been trans¬ 
ferred to Beauregard’s army, and would recognize me. 

A captive is always an object of curiosity. I must expect to be 
gazed upon, stared at, and scrutinized wherever I should be taken. 

I might explain away any objections that would offer to the refu¬ 
gee story, as there was no evidence existing that I had recently 
acted the part of a scout; but the Fort Pickens episode could not 
be so explained. The mere discovery of my identity meant a speedy 
hanging, without the form of a court-martial. 

I believe I have not yet tried to describe my personal appear* 
ance at that time. 

I had, from a mere lad, been wearing my hair long, combed 
back of my ears; despite the jeering remarks of my companions, 
my “back hair” reached my shoulders, where, truth compells me 
to admit, it lay in better curls than Buffalo Bill’s, Texas Jack’s, or, 
more recently, that of “ Jack Crawford,” the cow-boy scout. 

Probably my long hair was in part accepted by the rebels as an 
evidence that I naturally belonged to the South, where the style 
was more common than in the North. It will be remembered, too, 
in extenuation of my fancy, that I had spent the previous winter in 
Texas, the climate of which is favorable to the growth of hair on 
the cow-boys. 

My dress, at the time of our surprise, consisted simply and only 
of a fine, colored, traveling shirt with open rolling collar, red loose 
necktie, dark trousers, ami a coat of the same, topped off by a 
small, soft, slouch hat; of course, I had shoes which were pretty well 
worn, and my feet had become quite sore from so much walking. 
This was not a very complete wardrobe out of which to fashion a 
costume for a disguise. 

My face had become very much sun-burned, and, in bathing, 
while exposed to the hot sun, my shoulders had become blistered, so 
that the flannel or cloth overshirt peeled the skin off in a most 
uncomfortable way. 

Reaching the advance of the Rebel outposts, which were located 


THE BOY SPY. 


127 

at an old house—half farm and half tavern—situated on the bank of 
the little stream at the ford or point where the highway or pike 
crossed which led to Manassas, we found assembled quite a number 
of Rebel cavalry soldiers, who were entertaining in their exuberant, 
self-satisfied way, quite a crowd of civilians w r ho had been attracted 
to the place. 

Into this group of eager, inquisitive Rebels I was, to *tlieir sur¬ 
prise, introduced as a “ prisoner who wanted to join our army.” 

It may be surmised that I had, with as great eagerness as them¬ 
selves, anxiously glanced among the faces, that were all turned 
towards us as we approached, to discovex if among them were any 
whom I had ever seen before. 

Providence, on this occasion at least, was not “on the side of 
the heaviest battallion,” but with the solitary “refugee,” who 
breathed a sigh of relief upon failing to discover one familiar face. 

Unfortunately for my peace of mind, there were among the 
civilian visitors to these soldiers one of those pompous Virginian 
'Squires of middle age who, though attired in a fancy grey uniform 
coat and civilian's pants and hat, was not, I was informed, really in 
their service. The patronizing manner peculiar to this class of 
gentlemen was, by reason of his age, indulged by the young officer 
in command, who permitted him to dictate, like a country 'squire, 
the manner in which the “culprit” should be disposed of. 

It was arranged by my captors, through this meddlesome old 
'Squire's influence, that I should be escorted to General Beauregard 
as a prisoner, leaving for him or his officers to decide upon the 
advisability of accepting my story and services. 

The j>ompous old Virginia militia Colonel was merely gratrying 
his own selfish vanity by securing me as his prey, proposed to take 
me in his buggy direct to the General, whom he wished to com¬ 
municate with personally. 

“How is it that your companion in the uniform ran away on 
the approach of our troops?” said the old wind-bag, addressing mo 
in a manner so haughty that I immediately resented it, and replied 
in a tone thatsome of the bystanders rather enjoyed: 

“ Oh, he was one of the Bull Run fellows; I am not responsible 
for him.” 

I did not relish the idea of going into General Beauregard's 


m 


THE BOY SPY. 


presence in this old Colonel's charge, lest he might, in trying to 
magnify his own importance, so represent my capture as to create 
in the minds of the officers at headquarters a suspicion or doubt as 
to my motive. 

The young officer was convinced that I was 0. K., and to him I 
privately expressed the wish that he would not report me an unwill¬ 
ing prisoner, or that I had tried to escape, assuring him that if such 
had been my intention I could easily have accomplished it. He 
agreed with me, and, at my further request, actually gave me, pri¬ 
vately, a little note to present in my own defense, if I should 
need it. 

So it came about that I shared the hospitality of the Virginia 
gentleman's buggy, as we drove along the road that evening en 
route to General Beauregard's headquarters with a pleasant note of 
introduction from aKebel officer in my pocket, in which was recited 
his belief that I had voluntarily entered the lines as a refugee. 

We spent the night in that vicinity, at some neighbor's farm¬ 
house. 

When the old gentleman and I were again alone on the road, I 
began to work on his patriotism a little, but it was not exactly a 
success. His manner was not congenial at all. He had with him 
a fine English repeating rifle, which he placed between us, with the 
butt resting on the floor of the buggy, and, as we drove along that 
day, I had it in my mind for the first time in my life to commit a 
murder. 

As we were slowly ascending one of the mountains, I remarked 
to the Colonel that I believed I'd walk up the mountain, stretch my 
legs, and relieve the horse for awhile, when he glanced at me and, 
with a hateful, overbearing sneer on his face, said : 

“You wont get out of this buggy until I put you into General 
Beauregard’s hands." 

I felt a wicked sensation dart through me that I had never before 
experienced, and instinctively my own eyes rested on the gun ; the 
Colonel saw my face, and reached'for his gun not a moment too 
soon; my self-possession came to me, and I merely said : 

“You're not driving a nigger now." 

I still had my loaded pistol concealed in a belt under my clothes. 
I had acquired while in Texas the Southern accomplishment of 


THE BOY SPY . 


129 


learning its use, and was expert and quick enough to have put its 
contents in the blatant old fooPs ear, and would probably have 
done so had I not been restrained by the fear that the report would 
bring about us a crowd of Rebels. 

For an hour after this incident we drove along in sullen silence. 
I felt in my soul that I was being driven like a condemned criminal 
to the gallows, and this old Colonel was merely my hangman, whom 
I ought to shoot like a rat. 

After cool reflection I concluded that, with the officer's note in 
my possession, I would be able to counteract any unfavorable impres¬ 
sions he might try to make. I had not attempted to commit any 
act in Virginia f;*at he could prove which would operate against 
me. The only matter I had to fear was the discovery of my iden¬ 
tity as the person who had played the spy in Florida; but as that 
was many hundred miles away, I felt that I was comparatively safe. 

Beside this, I wanted most earnestly to see General Beauregard 
myself, and to visit his army at Manassas, and pretended that I was 
glad to have the use of the old man's buggy, instead of having to 
trudge along on foot. 

The approach to the outskirts of the Rebel army was evident 
from the frequent appearance of men in gray clothes, who were 
apparently staggling along the road bound to their homes. A great 
many of them seemed to have formed the conclusion that, having 
whipped the Yankees at Bull Run, the war was over, or, if it wasn't, 
it ought to be, and they could return to their homes in peace, at 
least until wanted again. 

At certain points along the highway, such as bridges, toll-gates 
and cross-roads, we were halted by guards, who, like the stragglers, 
were quite communicative to our Colonel, and were of the general 
opinion that there was no longer any necessity for any particular 
stringency in enforcing orders, as the war would soon be over ; we 
were, in consequence, permitted to drive ahead without delay. 

My old Colonel had taken occasion at several points to call atten¬ 
tion to his “ prisoner" in a patronizing way. I was pleased and 
encouraged to note that the air of importance with which the old 
man attempted to surround himself did not evoke the laudation 
that he expected. 

As we drove up to a house by the roadside to water the horse. 


ISO 


THE BOY SPY. 


T mildly suggested that I should like an opportunity to wash some 
ol' the dust and perspiration from my face and brush up a little before 
being presented to the General. My guardian angel, probably think 
ing it would serve his purpose better to show me up in as unfavor¬ 
able an appearance as possible, bluntly refused to accord me this 
privilege, saying, as he drove off': 

“ Fm in a hurry to get there, as I don't want to have you on my 
hands all night." 

We were now close to the railroad tracks, along side of which 
were numerous camps, or those that had been abandoned for more 
comfortable location out toward the front. I need not tell old sol¬ 
diers how uncomfortable and desolate the rear or outskirts of an 
army are, especially in the miserable country about Manassas. 

The roads were crowded with all sorts of vehicles, from artillery 
and ammunition wagons, driven by colored boys and guarded by 
frisky black-horse cavalry men, to the two-wheeled carts run by de¬ 
crepit old colored people who were peddling “ truck " for the benefit 
of their Virginia-Yankee owners, whom, by the way, the real South¬ 
ern people from the South said at that time were worse than any 
other sort of Yankee. 

Of course the road was dusty—Virginia roads are either dusty or 
muddy, and, being so much crowded, our progress became a little 
slow. As we drove along through that Rebel army that evening, I 
am sure there was not a face in all the crowd that I did not eagerly 
scan, in nervous anticipation of meeting some one who might recog¬ 
nize me. When the old man was told we were off the road to head¬ 
quarters, I felt as much annoyed as himself at the delay in reaching 
General Beauregard's headquarters. 

I observed particularly an entire absence of anything that looked 
like preparations for an advance. Of this I became more satisfied 
the further on we got, both from the appearance of men traveling 
to the rear and from the careless appearance of the troops toward 
the front. 

Artillery was parked in shady places; the horses were not cor¬ 
ralled close to the guns; in fact, everything was very much in the 
same disordered condition that I had observed in our army. 

About an hour before sundown we reached Beauregard's head¬ 
quarters. As we drove up to the fence the old man hailed a col- 


THE BOY SPY. 


131 


ored boy, and bade him tie bis horse; then, turning to me with a 
smile of relief, he said: 

“ Here we are; get out!” 

I obeyed with an alacrity that caused him to stare at me in won¬ 
der, as he stretched his sleepy legs and got out after me, walking 
beside me with his gun in hand until suddenly halted by a sentry 
on guard, to whom my Virginian said: 

“I want to see General Beauregard,” and proceeded to walk 
ahead, as if he was a privileged character, but the sentry called 
down the old fool’s dignity by peremptorily ordering him to “ halt,” 
as he brought his gun to a carry. There were some sharp words 
spoken, but the guard understood his business, and gave the old 
man his first lesson in military etiquette, that no doubt lasted for 
all the war. An officer near by, who had been attracted by the 
slight rumpus, approached the sentry, who properly saluted him, 
and, in answer to the officer’s questions, began to give an account of 
the trouble, but had barely begun to speak when the old farmer, 
swelling like a turkey-gobbler, ignoring the soldier, and endeavor¬ 
ing to talk over the head of the officer, in a loud voice said: “I 
want to see General Beauregard at once , and I’ll have this fellow 
punished for insulting a gentleman.” 

The officer, who was a gentleman, mildly suggested that the man 
had been only doing his duty and obeying orders, but my friend’s 
choler was up and, refusing all explanations, demanded an immedi¬ 
ate interview with the General. 

The officer now began to get mad and, in a commanding tone, 
inquired : “ What is your business, sir, with the General?” to which 
the old gentleman replied : “I will explain my business when I see 
the General.” 

“ Well, sir, you will have to give me your name and the nature 
or your business, and I will advise you as to the General’s pleasure.'” 

“ My name, sir, is Colonel-, of Virginia, by gad ; and my 

business is to turn over a prisoner whom we caught prowling in our 
county, sir; there he stands, right there, sir.” 

Turning to look at me, the officer said to the Colonel: “ V ell, 
you should escort your prisoner to the provost-marshal. General 
Beauregard is not entertaining prisoners. ” 

After a few more passages at arms it was settled that I should be 



TEE BOT SPY. 


left in charge of the guard while the Colonel and the General had 
an interview. 

While he was telling his story to General Beauregard, which, I 
suspect, referred more to the “insult” to himself than to my 
dangerous character, the officer, who had returned to me, politely 
said something about “ old fools.” I agreed with him, and took occa¬ 
sion to add my mite of experience with the old fool, and saying that 
I had merely come from a patriotic impulse from my own home to do 
something for the country, but had been treated with so much 
indignity by this old man I was sorry I had left home. 

In his state of mind my interpretation of the story had a most 
agreeable effect, which was further strengthened by the note from 
the officer who had captured me. As soon as he read this, turning to 
me, he politely asked to be excused, as he returned to the General 
who was being bored to death by my Colonel. 

In a moment more General Beauregard and my Colonel made an 
appearance, the latter still talking earnestly. The General was 
bare-headed, his coat unbuttoned, and presented to my vision the 
appearance of a pleasant Jewish gentleman. He looked at me 
while the old gas-bag was exhausting itself, but did not speak a word 
either to me or the Colonel until my young officer spoke up and 
said : 

“ I think. General, I had better relieve this gentleman of the 
responsibility of the care of the young Marylander,” at the same 
time handing to the General the note I had given him. 

General Beauregard again looked at me as he finished reading 
it, and, turning to the officer, said : 

“Yes, yes, that will do.” 

And bidding the Colonel a good evening, as he excused himself, 
walked off. 

It must not be thought that the Virginia Colonel believed, or 
for an instant suspected my true character; his only object was to 
secure some attention for himself by pressing me upon the General 
personally; and his own egotism defeated his purpose, to my very 
great relief. 

The Colonel being thus summarily disposed of, the officer, who 
introduced himself to me as an aide to General Beauregard, began 
to apologize for my ungracious reception in the Southern Army, 


THE BOY SPY. 


133 


I told him my desire was to connect myself with some of the 
Baltimore refugees, and 1 was informed that I should have the 
opportunity soon ; but at that time 1 think there was no distinct 
Maryland organizations in their Army. When 1 suggested that, as 
I was without money, I must work to earn a living, I meekly 
observed that being a railroader at home I should like an opportu¬ 
nity to be employed somewhere in that capacity, as I should be able 
to do justice to myself and my employers better there than else¬ 
where until I could be able to unite with the army. 

‘‘Just the thing; we need experienced men on the roads here 
now as much as we require soldiers,” and, turning to an orderly, he 
directed him to accompany me to a certain official who had charge 
of the railroad transportation with the request from General Beau- 
rcfjarcl that his services be availed of, as he is an experienced railroad 
man. 

It was after dark when I became finally located, and, singular as 
it may seem, I was that night an occupant of a couch in the rail¬ 
road depot, within sound of the telegraph instruments operating 
between Manassas and Richmond, and this by express authority of 
General Beauregard, instead of being a prisoner in a guard-house 
waiting for execution. 

I have been careful to give all the details of this day at perhaps 
tedious length, not that it was interesting, but because of the bear¬ 
ing on the subsequent events, which I believe are as remarkable as 
anything yet recorded in the secret service of the war. 


CHAPTER XI. 


IMPORTANT DOCUMENTS INTERCEPTED AT MANASSAS, WHICH ESTAB¬ 
LISHED THE FACT THAT THE REBEL ARMY HAD NO INTENTION, 
AND WERE NOT ABLE TO ADVANCE AFTER MANASSAS-—THE 
REBEL ARMY DEMORALIZED BY SUCCESS, AND TWENTY-FIVE PER 
CENT. ABSENT FROM EPIDEMIC — ON THE FIELD AFTER THE BAT¬ 
TLE—OBSERVATION INSIDE REBEL CAMPS—TALKING WITH RICH¬ 
MOND BY WIRE —CAPTURED BY REBEL PICKET IN SIGHT OF 
THE SIGNAL LIGHTS AT GEORGETOWN COLLEGE. 

I was always particularly careful to conceal from every one with 
whom I was in contact when scouting that I was an expert teleg¬ 
rapher. As such I was able, without any apparent effort at listen¬ 
ing on my part, or in any way indicating by my manner that I was 
paying any attention to the monotonous clicking of the instru¬ 
ments, to interpret every word or signal that they gave out. 

I had studied this part carefully, realizing fully that upon my 
successful concealment of this accomplishment everything depended. 

I now found myself—through a train of events that seemed 
almost providential—in exactly the position inside the Rebel armies 
from which I could best accomplish the objects that I had set out to 
undertake when I first presented the Secretary's letter to General 
Patterson and General Porter. 

I might have been there before the battle, if Fitz-John Porter 
had not delayed me. A few days after, I was at the old shanty of a 
railroad depot from which the trains and telegraph communication 
were had with Richmond, Gordonsville, and the Valley; the armies 
of Generals Beauregard and Johnston, were encamped some distance 
in advance of this point, but my situation was exactly suited to my 
purpose, which was to intercept communication over the wire to 
and-from Richmond between the Rebel Government and their Gen¬ 
erals in the field. I might learn more by sitting still or loafing 
around listlessly in one day at that point than could be accom¬ 
plished by a week's tramp through every camp of the Rebel Army. 

When I reached the railway station, in charge of one of General 

m 


THE BOY SPY. 


15 

Beauregard's orderlies, it was quite dark. The gentlemanly Rybel 
soldier, at the direction of the staff officer, escorted me thither 
from headquarters, politely presented me to the agent or officer in 
charge, as a “Maryland refugee, whom General Beauregard had 
sent to him to make use of until such time as he could join with 
some other Marylanders, who were to come in soon." I was also 
further recommended as having been-connected with railroads in 
the North, and, continuing, he said : 

“Mr. AYilmore" (I had assumed my mother's maiden name) 
“ is willing to undertake any work you may have for him." * 

“ Yes," I spoke up ; “I shall be obliged for any employment 
that will enable me to even earn my rations until I can meet with 
some friends, whom I expect." 

I was cordially received and hospitably entertained as one of 
the exiled refugees from “Maryland, my Maryland;" in fact, I 
became somewhat embarrassed by the generous attentions that the 
attaches about the place were disposed to give me, on account of my 
being a youthful exile from home. 

The station-house was an old frame structure, such as one sees 
on second-class railways in a new country. One portion was 
assigned to the offices, in which were crowded together the ticket- 
sellers, the agent, clerks, and the three telegraph operators. There 
had not, of course, entered into the plans of the builder of the 
road and station-houses any calculations for the increased facilities 
demanded by the presence of a large army at that point, and, neces¬ 
sarily, everything was exceedingly cramped and crowded, which 
uncomfortable fact served all the better for my purposes. 

There was a squad of Rebel soldiers detailed at the depot for the 
protection of property and to guard the employees. The measly 
old shanty was more correctly termed a “depot" than are some of 
those elegant railroad structures which have recently been erected 
over the country, which, properly speaking, are “stations," even if 
located at a city terminus—a depot being correctly defined as a 
storehouse, or base of supplies for an army. 

This depot, like all the country stations, had a broad platform 
around two sides of it. At the rear of the office portion was a 
window looking out on this platform. Inside of the office, against 
the Avail, immediately under this window, was an old deal table o/ 


THE BOY SPY. 


136 

shelf, on which was placed two complete sets of Morse instruments, 
while scattered about over this desk in a telegraphic style was a lot of 
paper neatly done up in clips, an old inkstand, half a dozen pens, 
short pieces of lead pencils, while behind the instruments a meer¬ 
schaum pipe nestled in a cigar box half filled with tobacco. There 
were a couple of glass insulators for paper weights, and an immense 
six-inch glass jar, or battery cup, which the operators used for a 
drinking cup. 

Thg fact that this cup had recently composed part of his battery 
and contained a strong solution of nitric acid, did not, that I ever 
noticed, deter the thirsty telegrapher from taking a long swig out 
of it after “Jimmy,” the little messenger, should bring it in full 
of water fresh from the spring. 

The wires, covered with woven thread, were leading down the 
sides of the window, under the table, where they were taken up in 
an inexplicable net, and drawn through gimlet holes in the desk, 
and curled into their proper place in the instruments. 

One of these instruments communicated with all the railroad 
stations on toward Gordonsville and the valley; the other was the 
direct line of communication with Richmond, and as this machine 
did most of the business, its voice, or tone, was permitted to sound 
the loudest, and partially drowned the other; but if an operator’s 
educated ear detected the signal for attention from the railroad in¬ 
strument, he could, by a mere twitch of the finger, accord it the 
prominent place, until its wants were attended to. 

All the telegraph operators engaged there were clever gentle¬ 
men, who were, of course, as full of the Southern enthusiasm as 
were their soldiers, and to the end gave to their cause that zeal and 
devotion, protecting, as far as lay in their power, the important 
secrets and confidences which necessarily passed through their 
hands, without a single instance of betrayal of the trust. 

Like the telegraph corps of the Union army, they served with¬ 
out rank, and for small pay, and no hope of achieving for them¬ 
selves any of the glory of war. To-day the army telegraphers are 
not even accorded the privilege granted enlisted men and teamsters. 
Their names are, unfortunately, not enrolled among those of the 
“ Grand Army.” 

Of course, I cultivated the friendship of the boys; I flattered 


THE BOY JSPY. 


137 


myself that I knew some of their vulnerable points and was able to 
approach them in the proper way. 

What operator has not been “made sick” by the stereotyped 
observation of visitors, who so often observe, with a superior air, 
perhaps, while he is showing his girl the telegraph office for the 
first time, while questioning the courteous and long-suffering oper¬ 
ator as to the never ending “curiosities of the telegraph ?” 

“ I once began to learn to telegraph, and knew the alphabet, 
and could write ever so many words, but I gave it up.” 

Too bad they all give it up. Fve heard the remark in my time 
jn an average of about once a week for twenty-five years, from 
educated men, too, and have been just that often made sick at the 
stomach. Any school boy can learn the alphabet from his book on 
philosophy ; 'so he can learn the alphabet of the Greek, but it 
requires close application for months to make a mere “operator,” 
and it usually takes years to make a telegrapher, while those who 
have studied the art and science of electricity longest say they know 
the least of its wonderful possibilities. 

The very first act on my part was to question in this way the 
operator who was on duty the next morning. I had proposed to 
the station-master to sweep out for him, and endeavored, in a gen¬ 
eral way, to make myself a man of all work about the place, so 
that I might be allowed to remain there instead of being put on 
the road as a brakeman. 

With a broom in my hand, I observed to the operator, who was 
at that moment leaning over and peering under his desk cleaning 
his local battery, or rather bossing an old negro who was down on 
his knees trying to do this work for him: “1 came near being an 
operator once.” 

I had not time to say that I had learned the alphabet when the 
young man straightened himself up and pleasantly observed : “ The 
hell you did.” 

I turned my back and began sweeping vigorously, and, if the 
young man had seen my face, it would have shown a suppressed 
laugh instead of anger. 

That remark fixed him. I know that he for one would never 
guspect me of being an operator. As the old*colored uncle was not 
doing his work properly at the local, 1 volunteered to help; and. 


138 


THE B07 SPY. 


taking hold of the wires, I handled them in a clumsy way that was 
amusing to myself, and, under his direction, for my willingness to 
aid, I was told that I should have the nasty'job of cleaning battery 
every day after that. 

The first day passed without anything of especial interest occur¬ 
ring until about sundown, when a message which I had not heard 
was received for “headquarters.” 

It was the duty of one of the mounted orderlies to deliver aJ 
messages, but at that time there did not happen to be any orderly 
about, and, noting their hunt for one, I volunteered to perform the 
duty and on foot. My services were accepted without question, 
and I became the bearer of a dispatch to the Rebel headquarters. 

The operator placed in my hands an enveloped message for an 
officer whose name I have forgotten, but it was addressed to the 
“ Headquarters of the Army,” remarking, as he carelessly handed it 
to me : “ It's an important message from Richmond and must be 
answered right away, or I should let it lie over until one of those 
orderlies got back, because its an awful long walk from here.” 

Anxious to get the important paper in my hands, I did not think 
or care for that at all, and told him with an earnestness that I could 
hardly suppress that Fd rather walk a little than lay around there 
idle so much,, especially as I hoped by getting out to be able to meet 
some of my Maryland friends in the camps. They all looked upon 
my proposal as being prompted by my zeal or my “ willingness” to 
be of any service possible to the cause generally and the telegraph 
people personally. 

The Rebel armies had been advanced somewhat during the few 
days. We all know how difficult it is to find a certain regiment or 
brigade which we had left perhaps in a snug camp in a well-known 
location only the day previous, rigged up and beautifully laid out 
and decorated as if they intended to make it a winter quarters, but 
had been suddenly ordered during the night, perhaps, to some dis¬ 
tant point on a picket detail or wagon guard. These sudden 
changes in the camps and of the headquarters to a straggling cav¬ 
alryman or infantryman seem to altei: the entire topography of the 
country in one day, and is very confusing to anyone. 

I concluded, however, to take the general course which had been 
indicated, and to depend on further inquiries as I went along. 


THE BO Y SPY, 


139 


AV ith this important dispatch in my pocket, my curiosity burn¬ 
ing with an intense desire to learn its contents, I started off 
briskly, determining in my usual reckless manner that, if it should 
turn out to be important, that I'd deliver it to our headquarters, 
instead of to the Rebel's, that night. It did not in those days occur 
to me very often that there might be obstacles in my path. I pre¬ 
sume that I felt if there were that, as a matter of course, I should 
be able to overcome or crush any attempted interference with my 
plans. 

I had not gone far when I was startled out of my reverie by a 
“lielloa," from the rear. Looking around in a frightened way, as if 
I had been detected in the very act of opening the envelope, as the 
subject was in my mind, I saw trotting up after me a neatly- 
dressed soldier on horseback, whom I recognized on a closer 
approach as one of the orderlies detailed for duty at the railroad 
station. 

His laughing question assured me that I was not to be arrested, 
and, recovering myself, I was able to receive him calmly and pleas¬ 
antly, as he. said: 

“I got back shortly after you had left, and they sent me out to 
relieve you. I'll take that dispatch out; why, its five miles almost; 
we're much obliged to you, though." 

I rather reluctantly handed over the envelope, which, perhaps 
luckily for me, had not been tampered with; the natty orderly 
slipped it under his belt and, after a few more pleasant words, rode 
off. 

In a disappointed mood I retraced my steps to the telegraph sta* 
tion, walking along at a much more leisurely gait than when start 
ing out. I had the leisure to think over my future operation, and 
before I had returned to the office, had about resolved in my 
own mind that there was not any use in longer staying about there. 
But, remembering my experience at Fort Pickens and in Patterson's 
army in getting into our own lines from that of the enemy, my 
mission in both cases being misunderstood and my object mistrusted 
by our own officers, because I had only my own word to support my 
reports, I fully determined that, without regard to the risk of carry¬ 
ing papers, I should not again return to our lines without taking 
with me some documentary or other proof to sustain my obser- 


THE BOY SPY . 


UO 

vations. I had thought, while in possession of the official dispatch- 
what a pleasant gratification it would he to my old friend Covode t( * 
be able to show him an intercepted dispatch from Richmond to the 
commander of the Rebel armies in the field ; and as the thought of 
this performance dwelt in my brain as I walked along, I formed a 
hasty plan, which I believed I could mature and carry into effect—of 
securing from the files or papers in the telegraph office a numbe r 
of copies of the most important dispatches, either in the handwrit < 
ing of Generals Joseph E. Johnston or Beauregard, addressed to 
Richmond, or at least signed by them officially. 

At the particular time during which I was at this point, it; 
seemed to me that the burden of the wires was the messages of 
inquiry for the sick and wounded, mixed up with florid dispatches of 
congratulation, coupled almost always with expressions of the great 
possibilities of the South. 

There were but few official messages of any importance that t 
was able to hear ; those carried to and fro by the orderlies, and t o 
which I gave my personal attention in a quiet way, would turn ou t 
to be generally some Quartermaster’s or Commissaries’ orders or 
requisitions, and I became nervous and tired over the strain or 
tension I had been obliged to maintain in order to overhear the instru¬ 
ments in the midst of the confusion always existing about the 
place. 

As the telegraph table was jammed up tightly against the board 
wall of the house, under the window, it became my favorite place 
for loafing when outside of the office. I could sit on the board 
platform and, with my back against the boards under the window., 
distinctly hear every word that went over the wires, the thin par¬ 
tition between my head and the inside answered as a sounding-board, 
really helping to convey the signals by vibration. 

If the reader is anxious to try an experiment, let him place an 
ear against even a thick wall and allow some person with a penknife 
handle to tap or knock ever-so softly, but quickly and sharply, in 
imitation of a telegraph instrument’s click, and you will be aston¬ 
ished at the distinctness with which the wall will carry the sound 
like a telegraph wire. 

There was always about the place a lot of idle loafers—Rebel 
soldiers off duty, who naturally gravitated toward the railroad 


TEti BOY SPY. 


m 


stations, where the little stores or sutlers were usually to be found, 
dealing out commissary whisky and tobacco. 

Every day, and for every train, there would be crowds of sickly- 
looking soldiers at the station in care of friends, who were taking 
them to the trains for their homes. Dear me ! I recall it as if it 
were but yesterday, how the hundreds of poor fellows looked as 
they were helped aboard the crowded cars by their poor old fathers, 
or perhaps younger brothers. I always associate in my mind a sick 
Rebel, with his big eyes and sallow face, with a resemblance to a crazy 
tramp one sees sometimes nowadays, inj ured while stealing a ride on 
a freight train, gazing at everything in a stupid sort of way, clothed 
in a pair of butternut pants and coat, and big gray blanket over his 
shoulders even in that August sun. I saw lots of them go away from 
Manassas that I felt sure would never return to trouble us. They 
were not all sick, not by any means; some of the chaps that gath¬ 
ered about our place were about as lively and fractious as one meets 
at an Irish picnic. 

One evening while sitting in my favorite place under the win¬ 
dow, apparently dozing, but wide enough wake to take in every 
sound of the instrument which I knew emenated from the fingers 
of the operator at Richmond, my quick ear caught a message 
addressed to a prominent official. As it was being spelled out 
rapidly, promising something rich in the way of news develop¬ 
ment, I was eagerly straining every nerve and sense to catch 
every word of it. The instrument had ticked out the name and 
address, which had first attracted my attention, and I had read— 
“ We have information from Washington that Banks—” when 
some big fellow among the crowd on the platform, of course 
not knowing of my intense earnestness at that moment, began a 
jig-dance on the board platform; and as his boots were at least 
number nine, and he weighed 200 pounds, of course the vibrations 
from that source smothered the other sounds. So intent and 
eagerly had I fixed myself on catching that message, and was so 
absorbed in my purpose, that, when the fellow made his first jump, 
I impulsively cried out: “Keep still a minute.” 

This was a dead “give away,” or would have been to any person 
who had known anything of the telegraph business and my recent 


THE BOY SPY 


US 

connection with the jDlace; but, quickly recovering myself, I said, 
All right; I thought the operator was calling me.” 

He went on with his dancing but I lost the message. 

I afterward carelessly walked inside and tried, without exciting 
any suspicion, to ascertain what the information about Banks 
amounted to. I was not successful at the time, but kept the matter 
in my mind constantly during the evening, and the more I thought 
about it the more eager I became to know its purport. 

I was satisfied fully, from personal observation, that there was no 
thought of an advance on Washington. I could see from the num¬ 
ber of leaves of absence, and the great crowds of soldiers leaving by 
every train, that no forward movement was then contemplated. 
Besides this, I had heard on the wire message after message of an 
official character from quartermasters, commissaries and others 
interested in the movement of an army, of sufficient character to 
satisfy me of any projected advance. I decided to go to Washington 
and report thus much. 

It had been arranged that, as Beauregard (or Johnston) had 
advanced his line to near Fairfax Court House, the telegraph office 
would be moved the next day, so as to be more convenient. 

Late in the night, when the only one on duty in the office was 
the operator with a guard or sentry outside, I lay on the floor of 
the office affecting sound sleep, but wide-awake. Knowing that it 
was the last opportunity to get hold of any papers, I became anxious 
and almost desperate. A long message had been sent to “ S. Cooper, 
Adjutant-General, Richmond,” giving a full and detailed account 
of an epidemic that had apparently broken out in the army. The 
dispatch was important I knew, from the fact of its being addressed 
to S. Cooper, who I knew was Adjutant-General for Jeff Davis, and 
was, I think, signed by Dr. Cartright. It was quite long; the 
only part of it which I distinctly remember was the astonishing 
statement that twenty-five per cent., or one-fourth, of the Rebel 
Army were sick or unable to do any active duty on account of this 
epidemic of dysentery or diarrhoea. This was an important admis¬ 
sion in an official form, and I decided that it was the message in 
writing that I must carry with me to Washington. I observed 
carefully where the operator placed the original copy after k had 
been sent. 


THE BO Y SPY. 


14S 

It was liis duty to have remained there all night, prepared to 
receive or send communications that might chance to come, but we 
all know how soundly the night-owls can sleep while on duty, and I 
knew, or hoped, that this young fellow would soon take his chance 
and drop asleep, when I could abstract that Cooper message from 
his files. 

I did not have to wait for him to sleep; he did better than that 
for me; he went out of the office and left me inside alone, and I, 
moving vigorously, with one eye watched his every movement; he 
further favored me by turning all his lights down before leaving. I 
inferred that his purpose (as all was quiet on the wire) was to go to 
his bunk and take a regular sleep like a Christainand a white man, 
and not like a common soldier. I heard his footsteps on the long 
platform grow fainter and further off, and then the sound disap¬ 
peared as he jumped onto solid ground. Now was my chance to 
get that message. 

Realizing that it might be my only opportunity, I quickly deter¬ 
mined to take the risk of his returning soon and, perchance, miss¬ 
ing the message from his file—it being conspicuous because of its 
bulky appearance. I silently stole up to the desk and slipped the 
big piece of paper from his hook and put it—not in my pocket, not 
by a good deal—but I carelessly laid it “aside,” where I would be 
able to reach it, and where the operator could find it if he should 
return and take a notion to hunt it up. 

Pleased with my success, and emboldened by the continued 
absence of the operator, I thought of looking further for a copy of 
the message about “Banks” that I had heard come over the wires 
that afternoon, but abandoned it, remembering that, as it was a 
received message from Richmond, that probably there was no copy 
of it retained in the office and the original had been delivered. 

Everything seemed to become oppressively as still and quiet as 
death outside—the office was dark ; the instrument only ticked an 
occasional “ call ” from “ Rd;” but as the operator was not there to 
answer the “call” the “Rd” operator no doubt thought him 
asleep, and with that feeling of fraternity and consideration for 
which the craft are noted, the man at “ Rd ” undoubtedly turned 
in himself. It’s probable the feeble call was merely a desire to 
assure himself that the man at the other end was drowsy and r***\V* 


m 


THE B07 SPY. 


to go to sleep. 1 understood all their little tricks. I had been there 
myself often, and, as I lay on that floor, I fully sympathized with 
the boys. 

Feeling that it was to be almost my last hour in the telegraph 
service of the Rebels at Manassas, I became bold and reckless 
enough at my success, and the hope of getting away soon, to under¬ 
take a very foolish piece of business. 

In the darkness, which comes just before daylight (when I 
should leave), I learned the Cooper message. At the same moment, 
almost involuntarily, I placed my hand on the “ key” of the telegraph 
instrument and softly called, “Rd-Rd-Rd,” several times; there 
was no answer to my first feeble call. The operator was probably 
asleep. I was turning away, abandoning the attempt, when I was 
thrilled through and through by the click of the instrument answer¬ 
ing in a slow, sleepy way, “ I-I-I,” which is the affirmative signal 
in answer to a call for attention to receive a message. Glaring 
about wildly in the darkness in search of the voice of the Rebel 
spectre I had aroused, and who was speaking to me from Richmond, 
I took hold of the key and said, in nervous haste and desperation : 

“ What was that message you sent about Banks ? 33 

There was a moment’s silence. “ Rd” did not seem to compre¬ 
hend, and made the telegraphic signal for interrogation (?) or 
repeat. I said more deliberately : 

“ That message about Banks—is there anything important ? 33 

“ Oh, yes; why, you sent the answer to that.” 

“ I forgot it.” 

“ Yes,” he answered ; that “a Confederate Company could take 
care of Banks.” 

“ 0 . K.,. 0 . K.” 

I had just laid down when footsteps were heard advancing 
toward the office door, and, in another moment, to my great relief, 
uot the operator, but the colored servant or porter, tumbled in for 
an hour’s sleep before it was time to sweep and clean up the office 
preparatory to the coming day’s work. There was no more sleep 
for me. I was wide awake to the importance of getting away from 
there as soon as possible. With the intent of throwing everybodv 
ofl their guard, or to avoid any suspicion that might possibly attach 
to my sudden departure, I had made up, and had been careful to 


THE BOY SPY. 


145 


tell all the listeners I could get the day previous, that I was going 
out to Fairfax C. H. to find some friends whom I had understood 
were in camp there, and I might be away all day and night. Also, 
that I was tired of civil life about the railroad and anxious to 
enter the army, and would do so if I found my friends. 

I knew that the operator who had been on duty, or supposed to 
have been on duty that night, would be relieved by the regular day 
man in the morning, so, of course, the man coming on duty would 
not be likely to know anything about the night messages, or to miss 
any messages that he himself had not sent. I therefore took the 
last opportunity te collect from the files of the office several inter¬ 
esting “documents,” which I knew would be valuable souvenirs 
to show my friends when I should get back to Washington. 

Early in the morning I secured a note from the Superintendent 
requesting a pass through the army for myself, to enable me to look 
up a friend. With a few further words of good-by to one or two com¬ 
panions, with whom I had been so singularly associated for a few 
days, I left the place, with the expectation of being able to reach 
Washington the same night. 

The distance was but twenty miles, I think, to Alexandria. My 
plan was, during the da}dime to travel openly under protection of my 
pass, in a course leading to the front. From the best outlook that I 
could reach, I hoped to place myself convenient to some unguarded 
point, through which I could escape from the Rebels, and in safety 
reach our own lines under cover of the darkness. It was not a par¬ 
ticularly dangerous undertaking at that time, because the Rebels— 
officers and soldiers—whatever may be said to the contrary, were 
demoralized, and had become quite careless and almost indifferent 
to their surroundings. 

I was now going into the very heart of the Rebel army. I think 
that I saw all that was to be seen in a day’s scout. They had, what I 
thought at the time, an awful lot of cannon; and cavalry men in bright 
gray uniforms were flying about everywhere, mounted on their own 
fine horses, and stirring up a dust in such a way as to impress me with 
the idea that the woods were full of horsemen. The infantry camps 
were, for the most part, pleasantly located; in fact, everything looked 
brighter from the midst of the army than it had from its rear; but 
there was everywhere present—along the roads, or in the yards of 


THE BOY SPY. 


U6 

convenient houses—the same groups of sick-looking soldiers and 
officers, who were probably awaiting their turn to get home to die. 

There were numerous fortifications, earth-works and masked 
batteries to be seen, and when I got on to the battlefield of Bull 
Run what a disgusting smell filled the air; the very atmosphere 
seemed to be thick and heavy with the odor of half-buried and half- 
burned horses and mules, the bones of which were to be seen in many 
places covered with carrion crows, which would fly off making their 
ugly noises as they hovered about in a way to make the heart sick. 
You all know how we used to “ bury ” the dead artillery and cavalry 
horses, by simply piling a few fence-rails over the bodies and then 
setting fire to the pile,.and then ride off and leave the coals of the 
fire baking the carcass. Whew! the smell of those half-burned old 
horses sticks in my nostrils even after twenty-five years. 

I have not much to say of the many poor fellows whose toes 
were to be seen above ground; and now and then a piece of blue 
cloth showed through the thin covering of earth, and one hand laid 
above the grave, from which the fingers had been actually rotted or 
eaten off. IFs an ugly subject to write or think about now, and F 
dismiss it from my mind with the same feeling of disgust and sick¬ 
ness that I experienced that day I walked along the fields and fences 
in August, 1861. Under the pretence of looking for a sick com¬ 
rade, whom I pretended might have died at one of the hospitals 
or private houses in that direction, I moved about unmolested. 
There were plenty of civilian visitors beside myself, who were readily 
granted the privilege of going over the battlefield; their army friends 
were glad of an opportunity to escort them, so it was not thought 
at all out of the way for me to be prowling about there alone in 
search of a sick or perhaps a dead friend. In this way I got beyond 
the battlefield without any trouble, and along the railroad toward 
the station from which a road leads up to Fairfax Court House. 
Here I began to encounter some difficulties in the way of guards and 
sentries which were placed about the railroad bridges and at the 
cross-roads. Their purpose was, as a general thing, I imagined, to 
prevent their own soldiers from roaming or straggling about too 
much. 

I knew that the railroad track would lead me in the most direct 
route to Alexandria, and soon to our army on that line; but I under- 


THE BOY SPY, 


W 


stood, also, that it would be more carefully patrolled and guarded 
than were the country roads; and for this reason I preferred the 
woods in which to make my final dash for liberty, and the Union, 
and home. 

The critical moments in a scout's experience come just at this 
point—after successfully passing beyond one line and before reach¬ 
ing the other; then occurs the time when capture means his sure 
detection, either as a deserter or a spy, with its terrible punishment; 
and it is extremely difficult to tell from appearances whether those 
you meet or see are the friends you hope to find or the enemies 
you desire to leave behind. 

I had traveled openly and boldly all day through the Rebel Army, 
carrying inside the lining of my cap the official papers I wished to 
get through. I had placed them in my hat because I calculated that, 
in case of a pursuit and probable capture, I might be able accident¬ 
ally to “lose" the hat in a way that would not attract any particu¬ 
lar attention, and a search, of the regulation place for a spy to carry 
papers—in the shoes—would reveal nothing to implicate me. Night 
and darkness was rapidly coming on, yet I continued boldly to advance 
right along to the front, and, in the gloaming, I reached a little 
house setting back from the road, where I applied for supper and 
lodging. There were several soldiers about the yard, and officers 
were inside the house, as I judged from seeing their horses tied in 
the barnyard. An old bushwhacking proprietor, to whom 1 
addressed myself, said that he couldn’t keep me, as these officers 
had engaged the only accomodations he had. Turning to the offi¬ 
cers I explained in a plausible manner that I had been hunting all 
day for a sick comrade, who had been left at a private house; that 
I was unable to find him—his name and regiment I was then able 
to furnish, knowing very well from their distance back, where I had 
located them, these man would not detect me—and as I was too tired 
and sick to go back that night, I must rest till morning, and so I 
would take a bed in the barn. I showed my request for a pass, 
across the face of which I had carefully endorsed in bold handwrit¬ 
ing, in # red ink, before leaving the office, the official words, 
“ Approved, R. Chisholm, A. D. C. ’’ 

That was a clear case of forgery, but “All’s fair in love or war,” 
and “desperate cases require desperate remedies.” 


TThu jfOT SPY. 


U8 


The officers were of that kind who are easily impressed by an 
endorsement, especially if it is written across the face of the papers 
in red ink; and without any further question I was invited to sit 
down while a warm supper was being prepared for them. 

I gathered from their conversation that the Rebel outposts were 
still some distance be}^ond. Though their own regiment w r as on this 
picket duty, their presence in the house was explained by the sick¬ 
ness of the younger of the two officers, the older having brought 
him in off the picket line. There were also in addition to this line 
of pickets, a cavalry detachment that were supposed to be con¬ 
stantly moving up and down the roads in front of or between the 
two armies. So I was still a long way from our lines, and had yet 
some serious obstacles to overcome. 

It wasn’t exactly a pleasant evening for me, although I was so 
near home again. I lay there in that hay-loft or horse-shed, plan¬ 
ning for the last dash for liberty; I knew that I must not attempt 
to move out of the barn until everybody was sound asleep; I had 
also some fear of a couple of dogs, that Pd seen running about the 
house rousing the folks when I should stir; I realized that I had 
a serious night’s tramp ahead of me; my path must necessarily lead 
me over the fields and through the woods in tiresome detours that 
would be necessary in avoiding the road. For this reason I was 
anxious to to make an early start from the barn; and just as soon 
as everything became quiet I silently groped my way out of the 
loft and slid myself down on the manure pile; crouched v a moment 
to nervously listen and learn if the way was clear, and not hearing 
a sound of life, I started off cautiously on the last quarter-stretch 
of my night run for “ liberty or death.” 

Keeping to the fields and woods, but in sight of the fence along 
the road as a guide, for some distance without meeting anyone or 
the hearing of a sound except the crickets and frogs, I became more 
emboldened and climbed over the fence into the road, striking out 
at a lively gait down a long hill. At the bottom of this hill, or 
rather in the valley between two hills, flowed a little stream which 
was spanned by one of those old-fashioned stone bridges. When I 
came close I discovered that a sentry was standing on it. I thought 
it was a picket; I could discern a moving object that looked to me 
through the darkness sufficiently like a soldier and his gun, to 


T1TE EOT SPY. 


U9 

cause me to get back over the fence and make rapid tracks through 
the field to his flank. Almost exhausted, I found myself on the 
bank of the same little stream at a point where there was neither 
bridge or pickets. 

I had learned enough about the military way of doing tilings to 
understand that, topographically, this little stream of water probably 
represented the ltebel picket-line, and I surmised that if I were 
able successfully to pass this point, that I should meet with no 
further danger from the infantry, and that cavalry could easily be 
avoided by keeping away from the roads, as I could travel over the 
routes where the horses could not be used. 

I waded right in fearlessly; there was but little water running, 
but, oh dear ! there was lots of mud concealed under the little bit 
of water, and when I pulled out, on the other side, I had gained 
several pounds in weight which had to be carried along up the next 
hill by a pair of legs already nearly exhausted. I got over that 
hill and passed down into another valley, and had, as before, become 
so emboldened by not meeting with anything in my path to relieve 
myself of the extra labor of climbing fences and crawling over logs, 
as well as scratching through briar bushes and tramping ploughed 
fields, I again took to the road. 

All that day and most of the night I had now been going 
steadily in one direction, as I believed toward our lines, which I 
had figured could not be more than twenty miles distant from my 
starting point in the morning. Feeling that I could not be far 
from rest and glorious relief from the dreadful strain or suspense 
in which I had placed myself since leaving the barn, I recklessly 
pushed along the open road. Up to that point I could have 
retreated and saved myself, but now that I had gotten outside of the 
lines, no explanation would answer, if I were captured. 

I was so fully satisfied that I was outside the Kebel lines and 
became so exhilarated with the feeling that came over me upon the 
thought that the next soldier I should meet would be our own boys 
in blue, that I started up the hill at a brisk dog-trot, feeling almost 
as fresh as when starting out in the morning. 

This road was through a strip of dense pine woods. You all 
know how dismally dark the path seems which leads through a 
deep and dark, lonely Avood on a cloudy night, I felt, as I forged 


150 


THE BO7 SPY. 


along, like the ostrich with her head in the sand, that, as “I could 
see nobody, nobody could see me/’ and was feeling comfortable 
enough, notwithstanding the dreary loneliness of the time and place, 
to have whistled Yankee Doodle, even although I was not out of the 
woods. 

I wasn’t afraid of the Black-Horse Cavalry in that darkness and 
gloom, because I knew very well that afoot I could easily hear the 
approach of horses along the road in time to get out of the way by 
running to the adjacent dark woods. In my mind I planned my 
forthcoming interview with the surprised officers of our army, 
whom I would soon meet face to face. 

It’s a rule or law that scouts or spies must report direct to the 
General commanding, and not talk to anyone else. I was going to 
do better than this, and report to the President and Secretary of 
War, and show the evidence that I carried—that there were twenty- 
five per cent, of the Rebel Army sick with this epidemic, while 
probably another twenty-five per cent, were absent on sick leave or 
straggling, and no advance was possible, while an attack by Banks 
on their rear would demoralize them all badly. 

“ Halt!” 

That’s the word I heard come from the darkness and interrupted 
my plans, which shot through me as if it were uttered by a ghost 
or spirit from another world, and put me in a tremor of dismay. 
The voice came from the side of the road, and from behind. I was 
so taken by surprise that I could not at the instant see the object 
that spoke like a deathknell this dreadful word. 

In another instant a soldier in a blue uniform appeared, point¬ 
ing his gun at me, as he said “ Stand there ! ” Then calling to a 
comrade, who had evidently been asleep, as he did not immediately 
answer, I recovered my voice sufficiently to say to the soldier in the 
blue blouse. 

“ You scared me half to death, until I saw your uniform.” 

He replied to my observation: 

“ Yes; where did you come from ?” 

I had not yet seen his face distinctly, but his voice and dialectal 
once aroused my doubts, and again put me on my guard, and I said: 

“ I'll tell vou all about it when your officer comes,” and I braced 
lor a run. 


THE HOT SPY. 


151 


In another moment the rattling of a sabre was heard, coming 
from the direction of the woods, and, peering through the darkness 
into the grove, I was able to distinguish the outlines of a house. 

When the officer with his rattling scabbard got up to us I was 
almost paralyzed to see him dressed in the grey uniform of a Con¬ 
federate cavalry officer. Addressing me courteously, he said: 

“ What in the name of all that’s good brings you out on this road 
on such a dark night, disturbing our sleep ?” 

He laughed, as if he thought it a good joke on himself; it was 
only a trifling little laugh, but it gave me some encouragement. 

“ Why, I have been hunting the house where a sick friend ol 
mine was left after the battle, and, being unable to find him, I went 
to sleep in a barn, but I couldn’t stand that sort of a rest, so I got 
out and started back home, and I guess I’m lost.” 

“ I guess you are.” 

The use of*this word nearly gave me away. 

“What regiment was your friend in?” 

“ I don’t know for sure, but think its a Maryland company. I 
knew him in Texas, but we were both from Maryland, and maybe 
he went with some Texas acquaintances.” 

“Well, my friend, this is rather a singular place and time to be 
found hunting a sick friend.” 

“Yes, I know; but, as I tell you, I am lost in the darkness, and 
must have taken the wrong road when I left the barn. I will sh6\> 
you my passes.” 

“Oh, you have passes, have you? Come into the house and wo 
will make a light; we can’t make a light out here because we arc 
right on the line.” 

As we turned to leave, the sentry or guard who had halted nw 
whispered or spoke in a low tone to the officer. I suspected that he 
was telling him that I had expressed my relief at seeing life blue 
uniform. The officer merely nodded assent, as he invited me to 
walk alongside of him into the house. 

I took occasion to say to him that when I saw the blue coat I 
was sure that I had been caught by a Yankee soldier, and expressed 
my great pleasure at having met such courteous Southern gen¬ 
tlemen. 

“ Well, you came very near going into the Yankees’ hands; why, 


152 


THE BOY SPY. 


their cavalry coine out here every day, and were away inside of this 
point to-day, but they generally go back at night, and we come out 
to spend the night on the road.” 

Then stopping in his walk he turned and, after peering through 
the trees, he pointed to a couple Of dimly flickering lights and 
said : “ Those lights are in Georgetown College.” 

Great God ! I was so near and yet so far; and as I looked at the 
lights I was almost overcome with emotion to think that I had so 
nearly succeeded and was now a prisoner in the sight of home and 
friends; that I had, in fact, passed the last picket and had been 
halted from the rear, but realizing that I must, under the trying 
circumstances, keep a stiff upper lip, I might yet get free. 

My surprise at hearing the lights pointed out as Georgetown 
College was so great that I must have expressed in some way my 
feelings, as the officer looked at me quizzically. * I ventured to 
express myself in some way about being so near the Yankees, as I 
thought I was nearer Fairfax, in a manner which probably implied 
a doubt as to the lights being so close at Georgetown, when he 
spoke up: 

“I know they are, because, you see, I was a demonstrator of 
anatomy and a tutor at that college, and we all know about it.” 
And as a further proof of his assertion he incidentally observed: 
“ If you are around this country in daylight you can see the Capitol 
from some elevated points.” 

In the silence and gloom that had settled down over me, like a 
cold, heavy, wet. blanket, we walked together to the house. 

Along the fence and hitched to the posts were several horses, 
already saddled and bridled for sudden use, while in the porch of 
the house were stretched in sleep the forms of two or three men in 
gray uniform, with their belts and spurs buckled on. 

Inside the house a tallow candle was found, and by its dim light, 
the Confederate officer scanned my pass, and then, turning, gave me 
a most searching look by the light of the candle, as he said : “This 
pass is all right for the inside of our lines.” 

“Oh,” said I quickly, “I don't want any pass anywhere else. 
I'm glad that I found you here, or I'd have gone into the Yankees' 
hands, sure.” 

While talking to the sentry, when waiting for the officer to coma 


THE BOY SPY. 


153 


up to us, I had not thought it necessary to attempt to destroy or 
“lose” the papers in my old hat, as I supposed him to be the Union 
picket; and, since the officer had joined us, there had been no 
opportunity to do anything with him, without exciting suspicion, 
which was the one thing to be avoided at that time. 

When w r e went into the house I had, of course, taken off my hat, 
and as I sat there under the scrutiny of that fellow’s black eyes and 
sharp cross-examination, I held my hat in my hand, and everytime 
my fingers would touch or feel the presence of the paper in the hat 
I was conscious of a little flush of guilt and apprehension, which 
happily the tallow candle did not expose. 

The officer, at my request, hospitably accepted the suggestion 
that I be permitted to stay there under their protection until day¬ 
light, when I could return to “our army,” Supplementing the 
arrangement by the kind observation. 

“We will see you back safely.” 

Then rousing one of the sleeping soldiers, whom he called aside 
and gave some private directions as to my care and keeping, he 
courteously told me to make myself comfortable, and apologized for 
the accommodations. 

I was a prisoner, and I knew full well that to be escorted back 
through the Rebel armies with this officer’s report that I had been 
“found at their outposts going in the direction of the enemy,” 
would excite a suspicion that would be sure to set on foot a closer 
examination, and this would result in my certain detection; because 
the first thing they would do would be to show my forged endorse¬ 
ment from General Beauregard’s, Chief-of-Staff for his further 
endorsement; and I could not, of course, stand an examination into 
my immediate antecedents, nor explain my statements, and this 
would also discover my operations in the telegraph office. 

As I lay down alongside of the armed Rebel trooper for a rest, T 
resolved that, come what might, I should not go back a prisoner — 
that it would be preferable to be shot trying to escape rather than 
to be hanged as a spy. 


CHAPTER XII. 


ANOTHER ESCAPE, ETC. 

As I lay me down to sleep on the front porch of the little old 
house, close beside an armed Rebel soldier, and not very distant 
from two other aroused troopers, I realized in a manner that I can 
not describe that I was not only a prisoner, but that I was most 
likely suspected of being a spy who had been captured in the very 
act of escaping from their own into their enemy's lines. I felt all 
the worse from the reflection that my unfortunate predicament 
resulted solely from a want of caution or discretion; that had I been 
content to suffer more patiently the delays and annoyances which 
were necessarily to be encountered while tramping in the darkness 
through the fields and briar bushes in avoiding the highways, I 
might have passed the danger line a moment later, to have reached 
our own lines safely enough a little later in the night. I had 
actually passed all the Rebel pickets, both of infantry and cavalry. I 
learned from the talk of the men into whose hands I had run myself, 
that they were- merely a detached scouting party, who were at that 
particular point at night, as I surmised, to receive communications 
from their friends who were inside our lines during the day time. 

This arrangement was for the accommodation and convenience 
of their spies in our army—enabling them to come out to this ren¬ 
dezvous under cover of the night to deliver their mail or supply 
information. 

I gathered these facts from the big fellow who had me in charge, 
who, it was courteously observed by the officer, “ would make me as 
comfortable as possible," after the manner of a jailor the night 
before a hanging. 

The outpost was not only a branch postoffice for the Rebel cour¬ 
iers, but there was a previously-arranged system of signals with some 
one at the college, by which any important advances or other move- 
ment of our forces could have been quickly announced, and that 
would have been well understood by the party stationed there to 
observe this. 


THE BOY SPY. 


loo 

-L. nave said, I fully determined in my own mind not to go back 
to the liebel headquarters as a suspected spy. The forged endorse¬ 
ment, or request for a pass, which I had voluntarily relinquished to 
the Ivebel officer, while it seemed to allay any suspicions that might 
have been aroused in his mind, had the opposite effect with me. 

It was the one little piece of paper out of my hands that was sure 
to be closely scrutinized by the officers. It would supply document¬ 
ary evidence not only of my guilt as a spy, but of forging a Itebel 
GeneraFs endorsement, 

I had not yet seen any chance to make away with the other 
dreadful death warrant, in the form of the stolen telegram that was 
concealed under the lining of my hat. 

While passing into the house from the road I might have thrown 
my hat down, but I knew they would hunt it up for me, and, in 
handling it, be sure to discover the concealed papers. I could not 
get them out of the hat, even in the dark, without attracting atten¬ 
tion that might result in an exposure; and, besides all this, I knew 
full well that any pieces of white paper, if torn into ever so small 
fragments and scattered on the ground, would be sure to attract 
notice and be gathered up at daylight. I was suspected, and, as 
such, every action and movement was being closely scrutinized and 
noted. My only hope was to delay the exposure that must eventu¬ 
ally come; that I must keep still and trust to luck for escape; or, 
if an opportunity offered me, while pretending to sleep, I could eat 
and swallow the papers. 

The horses of the troopers were already bridled and saddled 
and hitched to the fence-post. It occurred to me, in my despair 
upon seeing this, that, if I could only succeed in throwing these 
people off their guard for a moment, I might find an opportunity 
to seize one of their own horses, upon which I could ride defiantly 
and wildely down the road into the darkness, trusting to night and 
the horse to carry me beyond reach of their pursuit. 

These were only a few of the many thoughts that rushed 
through my brain that night, as I lay there on the porch, so near 
home and friends on one side, and so close to death and the gallows 
on the other. It is said that a drowning person will think of the 
events of a life-time in one short moment. I had hours of agony 
that night that can never, never be described. 


156 


THE BdY SPf. 


As I lay there looking up into the sky, perhaps for the last time, 
I thought Fd soon have an opportunity of finding out whether there 
were other worlds than ours. I was, indeed, going to that bourne 
from which no traveler ever returns. 

The clouds, which had darkened the sky a little in the early part 
of the evening, were now slowly rolling by. I lay as still as death 
for an hour perhaps, watching the movements of the clouds, and 
thinking of my friends at home. 

I wondered what each and every one was doing at that particular 
time, and imagined that most of my youthful associates were having 
a happy evening somewhere, while I, poor fool, was lying out on a 
Virginia porch in this dreadful fix, without a friend to counsel or 
advise with, while I might just as well have been at home and happy 
with the rest of them. If they thought of me at all, it probably 
was as a prisoner still about Harper’s Ferry; but I would never, 
perhaps, have the satisfaction of knowing that my work in the Rebel 
camps had been understood. While cogitating in this frame of 
mind the moon began to show through the breaking clouds, and, 
as suddenly as if a face had appeared to my vision, the Southern 
moon looked straight down on my face, flooding the porch for a 
moment with a stream of mellow light. 

I was lying partly on my side at the time, my head resting on 
my arm for a pillow, as was my habit; my hat, which yet contained 
the tell-tale papers, was under my face. I was almost startled from 
my reverie, as if by an apparition, and, looking around hastily, I 
saw standing, like an equestrian statue, on the road the mounted 
sentry, while along side of me, but to my back, was seated another 
fellow apparently wide awake, who looked wonderingly at me as I 
raised my head so suddenly. I was closely guarded, and my heart 
sank within me as I again dropped my head to my favorite position 
on my pillowing arm. 

The moon still shone clear, and as I looked with heavy, moist, 
downcast eye, I became suddenly thrilled through my whole being 
.on discovering by the light of that indulgent old moon that right 
alongside of my hat was an open knot-hole in the floor of the 
porch. 

I’m not a spiritualist or even a believer in the supernatural, but 
I must assent* upon my Qouviotioih that some unseen influence must 


THE BOY SPY. 


157 

have directed and placed that ray of moonlight at that particular time, 
for the express purpose of enabling me to safely deposit the tell-tale 
papers. If it had not been for the timely rift in the clouds, I 
would never have discovered the little opening in the floor. Another 
fact which confirms me in my theory of the supernatural influence 
is, that, immediately after I had been so strangely shown the place 
of concealment, the light faded as suddenly as it had appeared, 
and for some time afterward the surroundings became obscure in 
the darkness. 

There may have been, but I don’t think there was, another hole 
in that porch floor, and this one was quite insignificant. 

In the darkness I could barely insert my two fingers into the 
opening, as Mercutio says in the play :—“ No, ’tis not as deep as a 
well, nor so wide as a church door: but ’tis enough, ‘twill serve.” 

I don’t think a hunted rat or fox was ever more grateful for a 
hole than I was for this; it was my only chance to get rid of the 
papers unobserved, and I at once took the hint from the sky and 
began silently to finger them out of my hat. 

Unfortunately, they were quite bulky; the official paper which 
had given a tabulated statement of the epidemic and absence 
of twenty-five per cent, of the Confederate Army, was on foolscap 
paper, which ivould rattle everytime it was moved; but by turning 
or scraping my shoes on the boards every time I touched the 
papers deadened the sound, I was enabled, after a good deal of nerv¬ 
ous twitching, to get them into a roll sufficiently small to poke 
down the hole. That’s what I thought; but when I attempted to 
drop them the wad wouldn’t fit; and, to add to my consternation, 
the guard at this point was being relieved. I lay still for awhile in 
a tremor of excitement lest I should be detected; it occurred to 
me, also, that though the moon had kindly shown me the way to 
get rid of my burden of proof, the sun might, also, in the hours fol¬ 
lowing, expose, from the front part of the house, the presence of a 
roll of white paper under the porch. I had not satisfied myself 
that the opening at the front was closed. To prevent the roll of 
white paper being too conspicuous, I tore from my hat the black 
silk lining, and, at a favorable opportunity, I re-rolled the little 
paper into the black silk stuff in a smaller package, which allowed 
of its being deposited in the Rebel signal station, and “let her drop.” 


THE BOY SPY. 


IhS 

It reached the ground about two feet below, and, being dark in color, 
was assimilated so closely with the black earth as not to attract any 
notice, even if there had been an opening to daylight. This pack¬ 
age out of my mind and off my hands safely, I breathed a heartfelt 
sigh of relief and thankfulness, and uttered a solemn prayer. “That 
I’d be hanged if I ever touched another paper.” 

When I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and looked around and 
saw daylight breaking, my heart again sank within me as I realized 
my position. 

Through a misty, drizzling daylight in August, I saw prepar¬ 
ations of the rebel outposts to “pack off,” and was hurriedly 
ordered to get up behind one of the troopers whose horse would 
“ tote double,” and instead of a gallant dash down the road to our 
lines, followed by howling and shooting pursuers, I was being 
“toted,” back to the Rebel Army, “on behind.” 

It seems very funny now to have to describe my inglorious posi¬ 
tion, as compared with the novelist’s idea of a dash for liberty. 1 
was riding lady fashion on the rear end of a rebel cavalryman’s 
horse, holding on around his waist for dear life, like a girl at a pic¬ 
nic, as we trotted ingloriously back toward the headquarters of the 
Rebel Army. It was quite unbecoming I know, and if I had been 
in a camp meeting crowd I should have enjoyed the ride; just at this 
particular time I was obliged to be satisfied with the facilities, and 
pretended that it was fun. I w r as smart enough not to allow those 
people to discover, by any words or actions of mine, that I objected 
to going back in this way; though I would have given worlds to 
have had a chance to delay them, in hopes of relief coming up 
from the Union Army that would compel them to give me up in 
order to save themselves. 

1 had two chances for my life: I could not be expected to fight 
the whole Rebel Army single-handed and escape unhurt; the only 
thing to do, was, so to conduct myself that I might throw them 
off their guard and quietly get away, and thus have an opportu¬ 
nity to try again to reach our lines. The other alternative was, 
that if this chance of escape did not appear, that I might so con¬ 
duct myself toward my captors as to win their confidence, and 
have the forged pass disposed of and not be carried to Beauregard. 
If conducted to headquarters, I might, by cunning stories, try to 


THE BOY SPY. 


150 


impress on the minds of those who would have my examination in 
charge the truth of the story that “ I had become lost in the 
night, while searching for the house in which my sick friend was 
reported to have been left.” 

This was plausible enough, and I hoped from the general demor¬ 
alization prevailing after the battle, that they might be careless, or 
at least indifferent, enough to let me off easy on this statement. 

The forged endorsement on the pass, which had gone out of my 
hands, was the serious evidence against me, coupled with the fact 
of having been captured while trying to go to the enemy. 

There was, also, of course, always before me the great danger of a 
discovery of my identity as the Fort Pickens Spy. 

I had ample opportunity to consider all these things as we trot¬ 
ted along back over that portion of the road that I had tramped out 
in so lighthearted a manner the night previously. The soldier who 
“ escorted ” me was a jolly, good fellow, and felt disposed to make my 
ride as comfortable as possible, but as there were eight in the squad 
beside the officer in command, we had to keep up with the rest 
and, as our old nag was a rough trotter, it was a little bit uncom¬ 
fortable at times. They seemed to be in a hurry to get away. 
Perhaps something may have happened while I was asleep that 
made it necessary for them to whoop things up a little that ugly 
morning. 

The unpleasant jolting of the horses, and the rattling of the 
sabers and horses' tramping feet, prevented an easy flow of language— 
in fact, I could not talk at all; it required all my time and attention 
to keep my place on the rear of the saddle. I did not dare to drop 
off the horse, because the officer in charge had been careful enough 
to place us in front. 

We reached a bridge on which was stationed a picket, who halted 
us; the officer rode up, dismounted, and gave the necessary counter¬ 
sign and ordered us forward. 

I had only seen the bridge at night, and from the other side, 
where I had discovered a soldier with a gun walking about, 
when‘1 broke for the field and flanked him. We were halted for a 
moment while the rebel officer of the guard, with our officer, walked 
a little distance to one side to consult with some others, who were 
hi a drowsy way, lounging about a camp-fire. 


160 


THE BOY SPY. 


I looked about to gain some idea of the topography of the coun¬ 
try over which I had traveled in the night. 

Several officers approached us, accompanied by our commander. 
I was requested to dismount, when our officer politely introduced me 
to the other, saying : 

‘‘The Colonel is anxious to know how in the world you could 
have gotten by his picket on this bridge last night. ” 

“Yes” says the Colonel, “Fvehad men on post here who declar- 
that no one passed them during the night. ” 

I was taken all aback, because I had told the party who had cap¬ 
tured me that I had followed the road right along. 

“Well,” said I, “I walked right over this bridge last night, 
and saw no one here at all. ” 

What a whopper that was; but I knew that Fd got to go through 
with it. Turning abruptly away from us, both the officers walked 
off a short distance and brought a sergeant forward to hear my 
.statement; luckily for me, he admitted that at a certain hour he 
had been obliged to leave* the bridge in charge of one man alone; 
but he insisted that it was for a short time only. After this admis¬ 
sion the sergeant and his officer had some interesting talk, in rather 
an emphatic tone of voice, in which my officer and our squad seemed 
to take a lively interest. They evidently felt that they had found a 
weak spot in the infantry line of pickets, and rather enjoyed the 
honor of having caught the fish that had gotten through the net. 

After this little affair had been so happily passed, to my great 
relief, they all seemed to be in good humor with themselves and with 
me, and were rather inclined to give me credit for having passed 
through their infantry successfully. As my escort’s horse was hav¬ 
ing to carry double, and could not be expected to travel as fast as 
the others, the' officer in command directed a second man to stay 
with us, while himself and the rest of the body-guard rode ahead. 

They assumed that, being again inside of their picket .line there 
was no danger of my getting out to the Yankees—if I had wanted 
to try to escape from them. 

We were directed to hurry to a certain house, where they would 
order breakfast, and very considerately urging us to hurry along, 
so we could have it hot. I was apprehensive, from this talk of a 
breakfast in a house, that I should be landed back into the old bush- 


THE BOY SPY. 


161 


whackers shanty, where I had taken a greasy supper the night be¬ 
fore, and had been put to bed in his barn. 

I was not sure of the road, nor would I recognize the house, as I 
had seen it only at night when approaching it from the other side. 
I felt relieved when we turned out of the broad road into one not 
so well traveled, which led to the left or south, in the direction of 
Fairfax or the railroad. To a question as to our destination, my man 
said : “We are to go to Headquarters, I reckon, but we are to stop 
up here for a rest and feed.” 

Sure enough, after passing only a short distance up the side 
road, we came in sight of an old tumble-down looking house on one 
side of the road, while across from it was the identical barn that I 
had crawled out of a few hours earlier. The house and necessary 
outbuildings of the farm were located between these two roads. I 
discovered by the daylight, also, that there were quite a number of 
rebel soldiers encamped in a wood close to this fork of the roads; 
there was, probably, a brigade of them, or at least a couple of regi¬ 
ments, bivouacking there, as I judged from the smoke of their 
numerous camp-fires. They were preparing their early breakfasts. 
These troops, I learned from my companion on our horse, were 
detailed for the Rebel advance picket duty, and were scattered in 
detachments all along the front in the best shape to protect their line. 

Riding up to the'gate, I jumped off the horse with alacrity, and 
seeing the old bushwhacker in the door, I rushed up to him as if I 
had found a long-lost father, and began to tell him how glad I was 
to be safely back there again. 

“But,” said the old scoundrel, “why didn't you stay here last 
night ? ” 

“ Why, I couldn't sleep in that old barn for the rats, and so 1 
got out; and as I didn't want to waken you all up, I walked off 
quietly alone, but I got started on the wrong road in the night and 
came near getting into the Yankee's hands.” 

“Too bad,” said the old rascal, with a sneer and a knowing 
wink to a group of officers who had gathered around there for a 
breakfast and had heard my story from our officer. I saw at once 
that I was a goner, and that my story wouldn't go down here; but, 
keeping a stiff upper lip, I assumed an air of cheerfulness that I did 
not at all feel in my heart. I was disturbed, too, to observe that my 


THE BOY SPi. 


162 

commander oeing questioned earnestly by several officers, who 
would every now and then glance significantly at me; from their 
gestures and manner I knew instinctively that my case was being 
discussed, and every sign indicated that the verdict would go against 
me. 

This sort of a reception was not calculated to whet my appetite 
for the breakfast awaiting us. The Georgetown tutor, whom I have 
termed “my Rebel," was a perfect gentleman, and whatever may 
have been his own convictions as to my being a spy, he most con¬ 
siderately concealed from me any indications, and refrained from 
the expression of a suspicion as to the truthfulness of my story. He 
assumed in my presence that I was a straight refugee; and I inferred, 
from his intercourse with the officers whom he had met at this old 
house, that he had defended me as against their suspicions. 

A young enlisted man from one of the regiments camped about 
there had been brought to the house to confront me on my “ Mary¬ 
land story," he being a Marylander. It was supposed he would be 
able to detect any inaccuracies in my account of Maryland; but I 
soon satisfied him, and showed the officers who had gathered about 
that I knew as much about Maryland and Baltimore as he did, and 
more about the Rebel country. I had fully crammed myself on 
that subject, in anticipation of being questioned on it. 

I have often thought since that, had I fallen into the hands of 
those infantry officers, after having successfully passed through 
their lines, they would have been' tempted to hang me without trial, 
and the old bushwhacker would have been glad to have acted hang¬ 
man. He looked like a veritable Jack Ketch. They well knew 
that the report of the cavalry officer to headquarters would expose 
the weakness of their line. 

I took occasion at the first opportunity to have a little talk with 
my officer, to ascertain what he intended to do with me. With a 
sigh of relief, he said: 

“Why, sir, I shall have to leave the matter entirely with the 
officer who gave you this pass." 

That wasn't very comforting, but I didn't say that I felt it 
was the very worst thing that could befall me; but, instead, I spoke 
up: “ That will be all right. I shall be glad to get away from this 
place as soon as possible." 


TKE BOY SPr. 


163 


“ Ob, yes; we will see you safely to our headquarters.” 

Then giving some directions to the sergeant of his squad to get 
ready to move, he turned again to me and said, kindly: 

“I am sorry that I have no horse for you, sir; and, as we are 
now detained considerably, I will ride on ahead. These two men 
will come on more leisurely with you.” 

That was one good point—the chances for escape were increased 
three-fourths, or in direct ratio to the reduction of my body-guard, 
or escort from eight to two. 

I was inside the Rebel pickets again, and they had been made 
more alert, and would be more watchful after their carelessness of 
the night previous. This, with the fact that I had been scrutinized 
by so many soldiers on that morning ride through their lines and 
camps, would make any attempt to escape in that direction doubly 
dangerous; therefore I concluded I should try to quietly get away 
from these two soldiers at the first favorable opportunity; if I suc¬ 
ceeded, I should not dare to attempt passing that picket line a second 
time, especially in daylight. 

It was quite a relief to me to say good-by to the old bush¬ 
whacker and his crowd of Rebs from my seat on the rear end of 
the horse. He had something to say about “ not coming back that 
way again,” as we rode off. They detained our companion a moment 
or two, while I imagined they poured into his head some cautions 
or directions about taking care of me. When he caught up to us, 
he said, laughingly: “ Them fellows think you are a bad man.” 

This was thought to be too funny for anything; and to keep up 
the joke, I grabbed my man around the stomach and called on him 
to surrender to me at once, or Fd pull his hair. 

AYe trotted along the road in this laughing humor for a mile or 
so ; my heart was not in the laughing mood, but I, like the broken¬ 
hearted and distressed comedian on the stage, was playing a part, 
and, in a greater sense than theirs, my “living” depended upon my 
success in acting the character well. 

At one point in the road my comrade had dismounted for awhile, 
and kindly gave me the bridle-rein to hold. I was then in posses¬ 
sion of the horse, he was afoot, his gun standing by a fence-corner, 
and himself on the other side of the fence. This was a pretty good 
chance for a horse-race with the other fellow, who was still mounted. 


THE BOY SPY. 


164 

but lie had the advantage of holding a carbine and a belt full of 
pistols, while I was unarmed. I wasn’t afraid of his guns. I took in 
die situation at once, and would like very much to be able give the 
reader a thrilling account of a race inside the Rebel lines, but the 
hard facts are—I was afraid to undertake it. I had discovered at 
the foot of the hill, near a stream of water, in the direction in which 
we were going, the smoke of a camp, and probably a road guard 
was over the little bridge. 

These soldiers, I knew, would halt me with a volley from their 
muskets, especially if I should come tearing down with an armed 
Rebel shouting after me. On the other side, toward the out lines, 
the course would lead me back into the Rebel camps and pas. the 
old bushwhacker’s house we had recently left, and I referred going 
~o headquarters to getting back into their clutches again. 

When my man remounted and I surrendered the reins to him, 

1 observed that, if I had wanted to have gone back, or to run off 
with his horse, I could have done it, and at least had a race with 
our companion; they had not thought of the danger at all, and were 
both tickled at this evidence of my good intention; neither of then; 
had seen the infantry guard ahead of us, which was the only obsta- 
cle to my attempting to carry out this “good intention.” 

We trotted and walked further down the hill and' passed inside 
the guard; in going up the next hill, I proposed relieving the horse 
by walking a little; this was readily granted, and I slipped off on 
to the road and stretched my legs in training for a run, if a chance 
offered. I remarked jokingly to the soldiers, who rode along lei¬ 
surely, that they had better watch me close; that, as we were now 
inside of about three lines of pickets, or road guards, being such v 
dangerous fellow, I might fly back over their heads into the Yan¬ 
kee’s lines. 

This sort of pleasantry seemed to keep them in an easy frame 
of mind, and they began to act as if they were ashamed of the fact, 
that two heavily-armed men on horseback should be necessary to 
guard one unarmed boy on foot. One of the men discovered a house 
standing back from the road, at which they proposed getting water 
for their horses and ourselves, so we all turned into the little road 
leading right up to the place. 

Our first inquiry was met q,t the kitchen door, in. answer to his 


THE BOY SPY. 


165 


request for a cup to drink from, by a real neat, young, colored gal, 
whose laughing, happy face showed a mouthful of beautiful teeth 
while the red struggling through the black showed a beautful cherry 
color in her lips. 

Both the boys were attracted, and began immediately, in the true 
Southern chivalrous style, to make themselves agreeable to the 
“ likely gal." I didn’t have anything to say. The other two fellows 
kept up the fun for quite a little while, becoming every moment 
more and more interested, and actually became jealous of each 
other. I saw that this was likely to be my opportunity and encour¬ 
aged the performance. While they were both dismounted and “rest¬ 
ing " on the old back porch buzzing the gal, I carelessly observed 
that I’d go around to a little out building. They had gained so 
much confidence in me that my proposition was assented to without 
a word, or even a nod; and the boys both sat still, while I uncon¬ 
cernedly walked around the corner of the house. 

IIoav long they sat there and talked I do not know, and what 
became of the two good boys in gray will never be told by me. 

As far as their history is concerned in this story, it closes witn 
this scene on the back porch of the old house. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


ONE more escape—“yanking” the telegraph WIRES—“OH TO 

RICHMOND !”—A CLOSE SHAVE. 

Apparently there were “no men folks” about the house at the 
time of our morning visit. However, through a window, I saw the 
white cap of an old lady, whose bright eyes shone through her 
large-rimmed specs intently on the group that sat on her back porch. 

I had taken observations every foot of our march during the 
morning, with an eye single to the main chance, when the oppor¬ 
tunity should offer, to escape from the guard—either to run or to hide 
from pursuit. Under such conditions, one's wits take on a keen 
edge. Directly back of the house, but on the other side of two open 
fields, was the edge of a wood that extended a long way in both 
directions. This wood was the timber or inclosed land down in 
the “ hollow” or bottom, as they term the low lands, while the road 
on which we were traveling stretched in almost a straight line over 
the higher ground. 

Once around the corner of the house, I stopped a moment to 
take in the situation. I saw at a glance that the wood was my only 
chance, because cavalry could not follow me on horseback through 
the undergrowth, where I could go on foot. I felt equal to both of 
them—except the guns. 

A dividing fence ran along the fields toward the house, and 
quickly scaling this, I turned for a look back, then thinking of the 
doubly dangerous risk of a second capture while attempting to 
escape, being actually in the enemy's army, I was nerved to desper¬ 
ation and made a break for liberty, feeling that I could almost fly. 
1 ran like a pursued deer. 

I took off my hat—I don't know why, but I always take off my 
hat when anything desperate is to be attempted. I didn't stop to pray 
in a fence-corner, but, in a half-stooping position, so as to keep 
under cover of the fence, I ran like a deer along that old stake-and« 
rider fence, and I made, I know, as good time as ever bov did in a 
• race after hounds. In the middle of the field an old negro man 
was working alone. I stopped for a moment when 1 saw him, but 

166 


THB BOY SPY. 


IB? • 

as I was,, luckily, on tlie opposite side of the fence from him, 
lie did not see me. This old moke had a dog along with him—they 
all have dogs. I was more afraid of the dog than of guns. This 
black apparation in my path to the woods necessitated a slight 
change of direction, to avoid him, as well as the scent of the mangy- 
looklng old dog, that I imagined was “ pointing” me. 

I was soon under the hill, from where I stopped a minute to 
look back. I could see only the top of the house that I had just left, 
and I knew they could not see me; so, leaving the protecting 
shadow of the fence, I struck boldly across the field in a direction 
leading furthest away from the old coon and his dog, in a course 
toward headquarters, the same in which we had been traveling. 

I knew, or at least imagined, that, immediately on discovering my 
escape, they would naturally think that I would return, or that I 
should at least try to make toward their front, and again try to 
escape into the Yankee lines. 

This was their mistake. My plan had been deliberately formed 
before hand to do precisely the opposite thing—which was to run 
ahead, or toward the Rebel headquarters, trusting to the chances 
of putting pursurers off my scent, and hoping to lose my identity in 
the crowd among the Rebel camps. 

Like the hunted fox, my tracks zigzagged me back to the road 
we intended to follow, but brought me out ahead of the house. 
Before risking myself on the road a second time, I peered through 
the fence cautiously, from whence I could see up and down the road 
for a long way. The coast was entirely clear; and, cautiously 
crawling through the lower bar of the fence, I did not run across 
the road; no, indeed, I crawled across on my hands and knees, like 
a hog, so that I might the better avoid any chance of observation, 
and, in the same ignominious style, I hogged it through the lower 
panel of the fence on the other side. Once, safely over the road, I 
quickly changed my character from the swinish quadruped to the 
biped; and, without turning to look either to the right or to the 
left, I crawled along that fence right alongside of the road, in as 
speedy a manner as was possible. 

It was more luck than good management on my part that I had 
been forced back on to and over the road by the presence of the 
black man and his dog. In pursuit they would naturally follow. 


168 


TEE BOY SPY. 


but the old man would be sure to swear that I had not gone in the- 
direction that I had been obliged to take, because he had been there 
all the time and had not seen me. 

While the two clever cavalrymen were probably skirmishing around 
on their horses along the road, or through the fields to their front, 
looking after me, I was rapidly traveling in a course directly opposite, 
and they would not be likely to suspect that I had crossed the road. 

There were no woods on the side of the fence or road on which 
I had placed myself, and I was obliged to keep close to the fence, 
and followed right alongside of the road for quite a long way. 

At the bottom of the hill was a dry run; that is, there was a 
gravelly bed over which a small stream should have coursed, but 
the water was not there in August, 1861. The banks were, how¬ 
ever, pretty well shaded or covered with a light undergrowth of 
willows, or some such trees as usually are seen in these situations. 
It was a good chance for me to get away from the road fence, so I 
ran along the run-bed toward the south, under the protection of 
the shady undergrowth. There were no signs of life along this 
stream; it was deserted both by the water and the things that live 
in and above the water. 

Its course led me a long way from the road. After successfully 
passing a house, which was near the top of the hill, at a safe dis¬ 
tance, unobserved, I got into a second wood and lay down on the 
ground for a much-needed rest. 

I did not dare to stop long in any one place, knowing only too well 
that, when my guard should report that he had lost his prisoner, the 
Rebel cavalry about headquarters would be sent out to search for me, 
with probable orders to all guarded points to keep an especial look¬ 
out for a person of my description. I could not stay in the wood, 
though I could best conceal myself there, because I knew that I 
would famish. I was already in real distress for want of a drink of 
water, and, as I lay there in the wood, my brain began to conjure 
up all sorts of torments. I imagined that the dry bed of the 
stream over which I had been stumbling was mocking me with an 
appearance of moisture. 

If any who chance to read this have ever had a couple of hours 
violent exercise in a dusty country, on a hot August day, and 
longed for a drink of water, they may appreciate my misery. I 


THE BOT SPY. 


169 


don't imagine that I can convey in words any conception of the 
suffering, the intense suffering one may experience for a drop of 
water, when they can't get it. The experience will almost drive 
one wild. I believe this, because, on more than one occasion, I have 
seen the demon of this anguish look into my eyes with the wild 
glare of the frenzied maniac. 

The drizzling rain of the morning had given wa}'' to a sultry, 
close noon, and as I lay panting in the shade of the wood, the sun 
hung out like a huge, blazing copper ball, and poured down his 
fiercest heat. I thought of the beautiful, clear, cold spring on the 
hill-side back of my father's house, in Pennsylvania, where I had 
so often, when a boy, been sent for a bucket of water, and had so 
reluctantly obeyed, thinking it a great hardship to be compelled to 
throw out a whole bucket of good water just because it wasn't fresh 
and cold. I would have given anything in the world for just one 
chance to be a better boy at home, and solemnly pledged myself 
never to kick again on my turn at going for water. 

I called up involuntarily all the soda fountains I had ever seen 
in the cities, and became frenzied over the idea that I began to hear 
in my mind the buzzing noise of the little sprays of water that were 
always to be heard dashing against the glass case. Unable to stand 
it any longer, I got up and made a break for water, determined 
that I must find it at any risk. 

In this condition of mind I trotted along slowly, like a hunted 
wolf, with his tongue hanging out. Let's see. I've compared 
myself to a monkey riding on the rear end of a horse; a deer stalk¬ 
ing behind the fence; a fox with zigzag tracks being chased by a 
dog; a hog under a fence; and now it's a chased wolf. I hope to 
exhaust Noah's Ark before I complete the story, and am trying to 
keep the score in view. 

I found a pool of water on the outer edge of the wood. There 
had been a spring about there some place at some time. If ther6 
had been any hogs about they would have found it first and utili¬ 
zed it as a bath; as it was, it was partly covered with a greenish 
slime. I had spent some time in Texas, where it only rains once in 
seven years, and had learned, while traveling about that country, 
that the green scum is considered an indication of good water. 
That's a fact. A Texan will alwavs prefer to take a drink from a 


THE BOY SPY. 


1*10 

pool on which there is this scum. So, in my distress, for the want 
of a drink — of anything, so it was water or something wet ■— I 
eagerly skimmed a place large enough to poke my nose and mouth 
into, and sucked into my parched throat a long drink of the warm 
stuff. 

I had also learned another drinking trick in Texas, which is— 
always to hold your breath as long as possible after taking a drink 
of what they call water, in order to conceal as far as possible the 
taste in the mouth which necessarily follows the nauseous dose. 

But we must hurry along and get out of the woods with the 
story. I reached, after considerable dodging, a railroad. I judged 
it was the Manassas road, leading from Alexandria past Fairfax 
Station back toward Manassas. I was not sure of my location, but 
I was glad enough to strike a railroad-track, because I knew that 
cavalry could not travel on ties as fast as I could, and I hoped, too, 
that it would afford me some chance to get away from the cussed 
country more rapidly. 

I didn’t dare walk the track, but I followed along it for quite a 
long way. At one point, wdiere there was a long, straight line, I 
discovered some distance ahead a soldier on guard. I imagined it 
was a bridge or culvert guard, and I knew that I could not pass 
that point. While getting ready to go around them, I observed that 
the telegraph wire, which had become destroyed and was repaired 
at one point, was quite low; the men who had done the work had 
evidently not been able to climb a pole, and had left it hanging over 
the bushes. The sight of the wire in this shape, put into my head 
the idea that it would be well enough to destroy xheir communica¬ 
tion right there, and prevent the use of that means of spreading 
information about a spy being loose in their camps. 

Getting to one side of the bushes, I easily got hold of the wire 
from my position on the ground, and, hauling it as far as possible to 
one side, after hastily glancing up and down the road to see that no 
one was near to observe me, I “ yanked,” or by a dextrous “ twist 
of the wrist,” which a wire-man understands, I was able to break the 
wire, which, the minute the tension w T as removed, suddenly flew apart, 
making the adjoining poles resound with the vibration. I was 
frightened at the consequence of my act and dodged hastily into 
the shelter of the wood. 



X “TANKED,-’ OR B7 A DEXTEROUS “TWIST OF THE WRIST, 
! WAS ABLE TO BREAK THE WIRE, 















TEE BOT SPY. 


171 

It was possible for me, as an expert telegrapher, to have drawn 
the ends of the wire together, and, by simply tapping them 
together, to have sent by this simple method a message of defiance 
to General Beauregard. I .suspect that this story would be enlivened 
somewhat by such a trick, but it don’t come in here. It was suc¬ 
cessfully played afterward while I was on Stoneman’s raid to Rich¬ 
mond’s outskirts; but the trfith is, that I was too badly scared to 
think of such a thing at this time. The accident, if I may so term ( 
it, served me a good turn in one or two ways; first, it destroyed 
communication for the time, and it brought about a valuable means 
to the end of assisting my escape, but it was not a safe place to 
loiter. 

It occurred to me that I might be able to pass the bridge, and 
thus get over the stream safely, by assuming the role of a telegraph 
line repairman, carrying some loose wire. The wires were being 
frequently broken by the rough pounding of the poles by mule 
drivers, and repairmen were no doubt often being sent out to fix up 
the breaks. In this capacity I knew I would be looked upon as 
belonging to a sort of privileged class, as they now are, riding free 
on the rear end of the railway trains, while we all know a telephone 
man will walk right through the best and biggest house to get on to 
the roof to fix a break, as if he had an inborn right to go anywhere 
lie chose. 

Breaking from one of the hanging ends of the wire a long piece, 

I coiled it in shape that linemen carry, and putting it over my neck, 
I started boldly down the track. I had no climbers, but I was able 
to jiersonate an amateur repairman who had been suddenly pressed 
into the service, on account of a great emergency, who must travel 
rapidly as possible in search of a broken wire. 

My story passed me safely over the bridge and past the guards 
stationed at several points on the track. I traveled rapidly in the 
direction farthest from the break. By the same bold trick I was 
able to get through several camps that were close by the tracks. 

There were no trains running on that part of the road at that 
time, or I should have, probably, been tempted to boldly stop an 
engine and get on; as I had often seen linemen on the Pennsylvania 
Railroad thus picked up from the road by accommodating engineers. 
1 knew, of course, that the trick would not last long; that the 


172 


THE BOY SPY. 


moment the wires had seperated the operators would know of some 
sort of a break out on their line, and would at once take the necces- 
sary steps to test for the location of the accident; and, of course, 
men would be sent out as speedily as possible to repair the damage. 

I ran the additional risk, too, of meeting with some of those bona 
fide linemen, who would question my authority. 

In the manner in which I have tried to describe, the greater part of 
this eventful day was spent, until along about an hour before sundown, 
when I came to a road crossing the railway. I now seemed to have 
gotten through, or beyond, Manassas, in the rear of the Rebel Army, 
toward Richmond, as there were no further guards at the crossings. 

I discovered, by encouraging a trackman in a short talk, that the 
road crossing the tracks led off in a direct course to Falmouth and 
Fredericksburg and Richmond. After a little further inquiry as 
to a suitable house at which to apply for something to eat, I left the 
track, taking the dusty summer road “ on to Richmond.” 

I felt, as I walked along this narrow road, which was seemingly 
cut through a thicket of small saplings, so common in that country, 
that I had escaped, and was safe once more. My belief was, that I 
had not only eluded pursuit but that I had put those whom I knew 
would he sent to find me on the wrong scent. 

I was tired, very tired, and as I had eaten nothing at all since 
the hasty breakfast at the bushwhacker’s house, when I didn’t have 
appetite enough to swallow a mouthful, I was, of course, hungry. \ 
hadn’t a cent of money, either, and what could I do but beg, and 
this I would not do. Again my good angel came to my relief by 
suggesting a ruse, to further aid my escape and, at the same time, 
perhaps, create a sympathy for myself. 

I had, in assuming the character of a lineman, thrown away my 
coat, in order to relieve myself of the burden of carrying it along in 
the hot sun, and to further carry out the impression that I was 
a workingman without a coat. 

I had walked so much and so rapidly that my left foot had 
become swollen, so that I was obliged to go along at a limping gait. 
I took advantage of this accident to further add to the change in 
my appearance, by assuming a lameness that apparently obliged me 
to depend upon the use of two sticks to hobble along. 

I had been obliged to take off my tight left shoe, and around 


THE BOY SPY. 


173 


the swollen foot I tenderly tied the greater portion of my shirt, 
which I had, of course, first torn off the narrative end. In this 
shape, walking between two sticks, with my foot tied up as if it had 
recently gone through a surgical operation, I jogged along down the 
sandy, dusty road which was leading toward Fredericksburg and 
Richmond. 

Along in the evening I ran into a clearing, at the far end of which 
was nestled a little old-fashioned house. It was one of those coun¬ 
try farm houses where the roof extends down beyond the house and 
forms a lower shed or porch roof, which runs along, both at the 
back and the front, the whole length of the house. 

Opening on to the roof were two dormer windows of the old- 
fashioned kind, that we don’t often see nowadays. 

I marched boldly—if limpingly—through the picket gate, up the 
straight path in front of the house door, and, assuming to be suffer¬ 
ing dreadfully from my “wound,” I asked the old man—another 
old bushwhacker—for a drink of water. He didn’t fly around with 
any great alacrity to wait on the “ poor soldier,”—that isn’t the style 
of hospitality for poor whites in Virginia—.but the old cuss did order 
a colored boy to bring some water. 

“ Right away; do you hyar? ” 

I was just dying for a chance to operate on the old fellows sym¬ 
pathy, with a view to “ accepting his hospitality ” for the night, or 
to the extent of a supper, at least, but I had come up to his door a 
poor wounded soldier on foot, and the second-class Virginia gentle¬ 
man has no use for a poor man, even if he should be a wounded 
Rebel soldier, who had come all the way from Texas to defend his 
home, etc., etc. 

If I had ridden up to his house as a blatant Rebel officer, on 
horseback, everything his house contained would have been offi¬ 
ciously placed at my disposal without a word of question. 

As it was, the old rascal began to ask questions, and was so dis¬ 
agreeable, too, in his manner, that a young man, who had come up 
from the barn, and who I judged to be his son, found it necessary 
to answer for me, and in a way that put the old man down. 

Being thus encouraged by the son, the old lady took a hand in 
behalf of the “poor soldier,” and endeavored in a kind, motherly 
way to make me more comfortable. I bad told them that I had 


THE BOY SPY. 


m 

been slightly wounded in the foot, but the wound did not properly 
heal, and I had been tired and sick lying about the hospital camp, 
and had determined on my own account to get out to the country 
some place, for a day or two. I was particular to impress on the 
mind of the sour old man, that I was noth, beggar—that I’d pay for 
all I got, etc. Now, I didn’t have a cent of money, and if that old 
man had demanded a settlement after supper, I should have been 
sadly left; but I was going to stay all night, and return to camp 
fo7' a pass the next day. The old man had said that they all had 
their orders from the army officers not to entertain any soldiers 
who couldn’t produce passes. To this I replied that, “I had 
thoughtlessly overlooked the matter, but could easily fix that the 
next morning, when I’d return.” 

We had a good supper ; the old lady’s sympathies were aroused, 
and she set out her little delicacies for the 

“Poor Texas boy, who was so far from home.” 

I was just hungry enough to have eaten everything they had 
prepared for the whole family; but, as I was on my good behaviour, 
you know, by a mighty effort and struggle with the inner man I 
was able to postpone my appetite. There was only the -old man, 
his wife, and the big lubberly son, and a colored mammy in the 
house. They were evidently ‘‘poor white trash,” but they owned 
one slave, so old that she was like a broken-down horse or cow—very 
cheap. 

I heard the old man talking earnestly to the son, and I imag¬ 
ined, of course, that the conversation was about myself—at such a 
time one’s fears are aroused by every little incident. 

“Trifles light as air, become proofs as strong as Holy Writ.” 

“ Oh, no; you’re mistaken, Father! Why, the poor fellow can’t 
walk.” 

“But,” replied the gruff voice of the old man, “he don’t know 
where his regiment is.” 

Without further words the young fellow walked off. When 
the old man came back to the porch, where I had been sitting 
telling the old lady a sorrowful tale about my home, etc. , he began.* 

“Where did you say you got your wound f” 


THE EOT SPY. 


m 


“ Why, it was a trifling hurt on the instep; it only became 
troublesome because I couldn’t keep from using my foot.” 

“Then the old lady chipped in with: 

“ Shall I send Mammy to help you bathe it with warm water, 
before you go to bed ? ” 

I declined this with profuse thanks, and begged that they would 
not trouble themselves about it; it was a mere trifle. 

After some more questions from the old man, which I was able 
to parry, I was ready for bed, glad enough to get away from him, and 
determined to clear out as soon as possible. They put me into a 
room which was in the attic, which extended across the width of the 
house; from this room there were windows opening on to the roof 
before described (two dormer windows), one in front and the other 
directly opposite, opening onto the roof of the porch. Before get¬ 
ting ready to lie down, I took a good look at the surroundings from 
both of these windows. I had become so accustomed to this, going 
to bed in the enemy’s country, not knowing the condition in which 
I should find myself when I’d waken, that it became a sort of a 
habit with me to take my bearings, that I might be able to escape 
in case of fire. 

I didn’t “dress” my wound exactly, or undress myself for bed; 
in fact, there was nothing that I could strip off but the trousers, one 
shoe and a hat. With these all on, I lay down on top of the old- 
fashioned, cord bedstead, and, as described by some of the smart say¬ 
ings that we used for texts in our copy-books at school—“ Consider 
each night how you have spent the past day, and resolve to do better 
the next.” Its awfully easy to get up these texts, but it’s some¬ 
times a little bit troublesome to apply the same thing to every-day 
life. I “resolved” easily enough to do better the following day— 
if I could. I wanted to get out of that country very badly, because 
I knew, as before stated, that the whole Rebel Army at Manassas 
would be on guard for spies at once. 

My one hope was to get to Richmond and escape by some other 
route. While “resolving” further in my mind how to get along 
down that road in the morning, without this old man getting after 
me for my supper and lodging bill, I almost fell asleep. I was so 
tired that T could scarcely keep awake, yet I was afraid to trust 
myself in sleep. 


m 


THE BOY SPY. 


The folks in the house had all been in bed some time; the lights 
were out, and everything became ominously quiet. My quick ear 
detected horses neighing and tramping, and an occasional voice in 
the night air reached my ear; but, as the sound seemed to die away 
so soon, I began to think myself mistaken, and was about to surren¬ 
der myself to sleep, when aroused again by what was unmistakably 
horses galloping along the road. I quickly, but painfully, jumped 
up from the bed, and stole quietly over to the front window just in 
time to see a troop of horsemen come up. They were about to ride 
rapidly past when one of the fellows in the rear file called out: 
“ Here’s a house.” 

There was the jangling that always follows a sudden halt of cav¬ 
alry, especially when following each other closely on a dark night. 
Some voices, in the nature of interrogations from an officer to his 
command, and a halt was made some little distance down the road 
past the house. 

Two of the men wheeled and rode toward the front of the house, 
and, after looking about the grounds, talking in a tone of voice that 
did not admit of my getting distinctly the purport of the remarks, 
they both galloped back together to the command, which they had 
left standing in the road. I breathed freer, hoping they had decided 
to let us alone. 

It would never do for that old man to have a chance to explain, 
in his Avay, my presence in the house. I felt devoutl/ thankful for 
the lucky escape I had again made, and had about concluded in my own 
mind to clear out silently, without the Virginia formality of saying 
good-by to my host, when I saw, with horror, that the whole troop 
had turned about and were walking their horses slowly back toward 
the house. I stood by the front dormer window of the old house, 
and you may imagine how eagerly I watched their every movement. 

The officer in command halted his troop and, calling a trooper 
by name, said: 

“ Sergeant, you go up to the house and ask if they have seen any 
strangers along this road.” 

That was enough for me. I left that window as suddenly as if 
a gun had been pointed at me, and ran across the little room to the 
back window; it was open, the night being so warm, the sash held 
up by the customary window-stick. I got myself through the 





LANDING JCERSLOP OVEU THE SIDE ONTO THE GROUND 


























THE BOY SPY. 


177 


window with celerity and was about to let myself slide down the roof 
slowly to the eaves, so that I might catch on there and allow myself 
to further gently drop down on to one of the supporting posts, where 
I could slide down to the ground. Stretching myself out in a feel¬ 
ing way on the roof, still holding on to the window sill, almost 
afraid to let go, when down came the window-sash striking me across 
the wrist so suddenly and severly that I involuntary let go my hold 
and, of course, slid down the roof feet formost like a sled on an iced 
track, landing kerslop over the side on to the ground. In my sud¬ 
den descent I had caught hold of a lot of Virginia creepers that 
were trained up to the side of the back porch and had pulled them 
down with me, and lay for an instant all tangled up in them. 

If there is anything that will startle a man or a woman it is 
the sudden fall of a window-sash, because, in most cases, it makes 
such an infernal noise and does so little damage; but, in this case, 
luckily for me, perhaps, my poor hand was made to answer the pur¬ 
pose of a buffer and deadened the sound of the falling sash, other¬ 
wise it might have fallen, as sashes always do, and the noise have 
attracted the notice of the cavalrymen, who were on the road at the 
other side of the house. My quick shute from the up-stairs of the 
little old house to the ground was softened a little by the mass of 
vines that I had carried down with me. 

The house only stood between me and a troop of pursuing cav¬ 
alrymen. Quickly realizing my precarious predicament, I gathered 
myself up, and, for a poor wounded crippled Texan with two canes, 
I made most elegant time, considering the darkness, straight back 
to the barn-yard into the wood beyond. What happened at the 
house I never learned, as I did not stop to hear another word spoken. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


©N TO RICHMOND—A NIGHT OF TERROR—A GHASTLY FIND IN THB 

WOODS — ATTACKED BY BLOODHOUNDS — OTHER MIRACULOUS 

ESCAPES — FIRST VISIT TO FREDRICKSBURG—A COLLECTION 

TAKEN UP IN A CHURCH IN VIRGINIA FOR THE “ BOY SPY ” 

—ARRIVES IN RICHMOND. 

When I heard the officer in command of the cavalry party give 
instructions to his Sergeant to inquire “if any strangers had been 
seen about there,” I jumped to the conclusion that it was a detach¬ 
ment of Rebel cavalry that had been sent after me. It may have 
been that this party had received general instructions only—to look 
out for all strangers traveling over the roads; but I knew full well 
that the old man would make such a reply to any inquiries as 
would excite their suspicion and put me to the dangerous test of 
an examination. 

In sliding off the back-porch roof so suddenly, I had further 
injured my already tired and swollen foot; but I seemed to forget 
all about it for the time, and ran otf as lively as if I were just out 
of bed after a refreshing sleep. 

I believe that they did not discover the “presence” of an enemy 
for some time after I had gotten off, or until the old man had been 
roused from his sleep; and I imagined, after a parley with him, the 
officer would accompany him to my room in the garret for the pur¬ 
pose of interviewing their guest. 

What they thought when they found the bed empty, and nothing 
left of the poor Texas cripple but his two improvised crutches, I 
must leave to imagination. 

I ran through the darkness wildly, recklessly, as fast as I could, 
scarcely knowing whither 1 was going, only feeling that each jump 
or step led me further from the cavalrymen. The night was quite 
dark. My course led me across a plowed field to a fence over which 
I climbed quickly, and plunged into a thicket or wood of small 
pine trees. 

Once into this cover, I plodded along slowly, being obliged to 

m 


TEE BOY SPY. 


179 

pick my steps. It was blind traveling, and I avoided running into 
the briar bushes' that are so plentiful in that part of Virginia. 
Through this thicket, every step, to my frightened wits, seemed 
sure to betray my presence by the breaking or snapping of the 
twigs and bushes. 

I didn’t know where it would lead me, but I could not for the 
life of me keep still a single moment. I felt impelled by some 
unseen power to keep going on, on—how long I dodged and scratched 
through the bushes and briars can not be told. I only remember 
that every few steps I would be obliged to halt, having run my face 
against some low, thorny limb of the heavy growth-of saplings, that 
would almost bring the tears to my eyes from the smart pains 
inflicted. I carried my hat in my hand, as I always do when I’m 
hard pressed, and my long hair, like that of Absalom, gave me a 
great deal of additional trouble. 

I was soon beyond sight or sound of the cavalrymen, whom l 
had left in the road. I desired to keep near the roads leading 
toward Fredericksburg. I assumed that, in pursuing, these men 
would naturally imagine I had taken the back track to reach the 
railroad. 

I sometimes almost despaired of getting far enough away from 
the house to prevent capture before daylight would come. When 
I’d stop for a few moments to untangle myself from the bushes, or 
to feel my way over a fallen tree, I’d imagine that the curious 
noises that every one hears in the stillness of the night in the woods 
were the echoes of the pursuing Rebels. 

1 feared above all things else that they would procure from 
some of the neighboring houses some dogs—bloodhounds, perhaps—* 
that would be used to track me through the thicket. In this way 
a most miserable night passed. 

Though I say it, who should not, I had less fear of the Rebels 
vn arms than of the dogs. In all my adventures in their camps, I 
had preserved secrectly, next to my body, the little Colt’s ffye- 
shooter revolver. I knew how to use it. There were the five loads 
yet in it, that I had put in before leaving Pennsylvania, and I had 
resolved that four of them would be used against either Rebels or 
bloodhounds and the fifth would relieve me from further pursuit. 

I admit freely that I was frightened; indeed, I was scared half to 


THE BOY SPY. 


m 

death, and would have given the world and all that was in it, if it 
were mine, to have gotten out of the miserable scrape in which J 
had voluntarily placed myself. Under such conditions even a 
frightened hoy will become desperate. 

I had deliberately determined to sell my life as dearly as possi¬ 
ble, and, if they had not killed me, I should most certainly have 
done the business for myself rather than take any further chances 
in their hands. This is the way I was feeling while resting for a 
few moments on an old log. 

A picture of myself would show a smooth-faced youngster sit¬ 
ting “like a knot on a log,” dressed in three-fourths of a shirt, a 
pair of torn trousers, one shoe and a half, bare-headed, long tangled 
hair, and I imagine an expression of countenance that would closely 
resemble the “Wild Boy of the Woods.” I had torn off the greater 
part of my shirt to bandage a sore foot the evening previously. 

When a person is hunted down he can accomplish some wonder¬ 
ful feats in quick traveling, even if the difficulties to be overcome 
are distressingly innumerable. 

I had forgotten all about the sore foot, on which I had limped to 
the house the night before. My wrist, on which the window sash 
had fallen, was most painful and threatened to give me trouble. 
Though I had been on a terrible jaunt for twenty-four hours pre¬ 
viously, I did not at that time feel tired, sleepy, or even hungry. 

There was the one idea in my head—to make all the speed pos¬ 
sible, and increase the distance between myself and Manassas. I 
had come upon a peculiarly sickening smell, that made me a little 
sick at the stomach, when all of a sudden I was startled, and my 
blood chilled, by a rustling noise in front of me; glancing ahead, in 
a terror of fright, I saw gleaming through the darkness something 
that I thought and believed might be the glaring eyes of a blood¬ 
hound. That dread was in my mind, but in the next instant the 
eyes had disappeared; with a rushing, rustling noise, the object, 
whatever it was that owned the terrible eyes, ran off through the 
woods. 

For the moment I was so stunned that I could scarcely move 
forward or backward; but, on second thought, realizing it was prob¬ 
ably some wolfish dog that I had surprised while feeding upon the 
oarcass of a dead sheen, I gathered courage to move ahead. As it 



I bat> 8TKPPED ON TO THE DECAYING BODY OP — A MAN. 

















THE BO r EPY. 


1S1 


was in my path, I was obliged to approach it, despite the sickening 
odor which was everywhere around. In a hot, sultry August night 
it was like—well, old soldiers can imagine what it was like. Desir- 
ious of avoiding the stench as much as possible, I was climbing over 
a log rather than walk too close to where I supposed the eyes had 
been; hurrying along, holding my breath, with one hand to my 
nose, what was my horror, to find that I had stepped from the top 
of the log right down on to the decaying body of —a wan! 0, hor¬ 
ror of horrors ! I can not write of it. I’ve never even told the story 
to my best friends. It has been too dreadful to contemplate ; but 
the naked, disgusting facts are, that I stepped down on to the soft 
object—my foot slipped, as it would from a rotten, slimy substance, 
throwing me partly down, as I had one hand on my nose, and, in 
my efforts to recover myself, plunged both my hands into the soft, 
decaying flesh of the head, causing the hair to peel off the scalp. 

What did I do ? What would you have done ? I was, for that 
moment in my life, as wild as ever lunatic could be; and can not 
remember further than that I ran straight ahead toward the road, 
which I had been so careful to avoid, and, after reaching it, I scaled 
the fence, like a scared dog, at two bounds, and ran—oh dear me—I 
didn’t care what I should meet after that. My steps were long and 
quick, and it was not until I was completely exhausted that I 
stopped for a rest. I rubbed -my hands in the dusty road ; I pol¬ 
ished the shoe in the dust of the road that had slipped off the slimy 
bones, but the smell would not out; it seemed to penetrate every¬ 
thing; and I became deathly sick from the exhaustion. The 
experience of that hour had so turned my head and stomach that I 
was as weak and helpless as a child. In this condition I lay down 
in a fence-corner, not able to hold my head up another moment. 
Perhaps I fainted, but I claim never to have fainted. 

I know that the dreadful object was a half-buried man. I 
know this, because some of his hair was in the sleeve of my shirt 
the next day. I don’t feel like writing anything more about it, and 
will dismiss it with the theory which 1 subsequently entertained : 
that it was most likely the unburied body of a wounded Rebel, or, 
perhaps, art escaped Union prisoner who, like myself, after the re¬ 
cent battle of Manassas, had concealed himself in the thicket, and 
fhilft in t-linl wfHiifen he had pwiwbty uleN, Mu# \m Me 


182 


THE BOY SPY. 


to procure any assistance, or to make his presence known, had died 
this lonely and unhappy death; and the wolves and dogs only had 
found his resting place—the log his only tombstone. 

I lay curled up in the fence-corner for an hour or so. I 
imagined everything. Dear me! I might fill a book with the 
thoughts that whirled through my excited, feverish brain that 
dreadful night. I felt that this would he my fate. Every stick of 
wood became a snake, and they soon became so numerous that I 
was surrounded by them on all sides. The trees were a mass of 
living, laughing, bowing giants, who were there to laugh at my 
misery; and the noises—well, all know how a little frog can scare 
a big man when it darts into the puddle of water with a thug, 
especially if it’s at night and he alone. I’ve often been scared by 
the suddenness of thep* jump, but that one night in particular it 
seemed as if all the wild animals in creation had gathered about 
that country, attracted by the smell from the distant battlefield of 
Manassas. 

There were plenty of \mburied and half-buried bodies all over 
the country about Manassas—the very air was laden with the odor 
from decaying horses, mules, etc. One can imagine far better than 
I can describe the sensations of an over-sensitive youth as he lay 
in a fence-corner of Virginia, forced to inhale the odor and obliged 
to hear all the dreadful noises that came out of the dark woods, 
and add to this the certain knowledge that, if I should become 
prostrated, then all hope of any relief for me from this veritable 
hell in Virginia would disappear. 

As I lay there to add further to my cup of misery, I heard com¬ 
ing along the road, the tramp and gallop of horses. Lying on the 
ground one can hear the horses’ feet a long way off, and I suffered 
in anticipation just so much the more. I imagined these were the 
same cavalrymen I had left at the house. This new danger served 
to rouse me partially, and raising, my head a little, I got my trusty 
little Colt out of its concealment, and was ready for the end. 

In truth I did not then care, and had become so perfectly des¬ 
perate that I was ready and indeed almost anxious to be out of my 
misery. 

They approached rapidly. I raised myself to a sitting posture, 
placed my back against the fence, cocked the pistol, and waited for 


THE BOY SPY. 


183 


their appearance. They trotted up, talking gaily among them¬ 
selves and without seeing me, as their horses shied jjast. That was 
not very wonderful, because I was so close to the fence as to become 
covered by the shadow; the night was still too dark for objects 
to be seen at a short distance, especially from a rapidly-trotting 
horse. 

The passing of this cavalry detachment before me, as I sat in 
the fence-corner, served to arouse my drooping spirits somewhat. 
The dust which they had raised had scarcely settled, and the sound 
of their horses* hoofs were yet to be heard, when I became imbued 
with a new strength and hope, realizing that there was yet some 
hope for my escaping. 

I knew that it would be safe enough to follow along the road in 
the wake of that troop of cavalrymen; and the fact that there were 
no infantry pickets further along this road, was evident from the 
fact of the cavalry being out on this scout. 

I stepped out into the road with renewed energy, glad enough 
to be moving to any place that would take me from the sight 
and smell of such scenes. 

I don*t know how long I walked. I remember very well that I 
found it necessary to stop every little while to rest. I was becoming 
so weak that I could scarcely hold my head up, and every time Fd 
sit down Fd involuntarily drop helplessly, and soon find myself 
going off to sleep on the road-side, being lulled to obliviousness by 
the queer, unearthly sounds from the wood—the effect being 
pretty much the same that I once experienced when taking laugh¬ 
ing gas in a dentist*s shop. 

I roused myself often, each step with a greater effort, and had 
the daylight been delayed but a little longer I should have been 
obliged to succumb. The appearance of the gray dawn in the East 
seemed to me as a sign or token of encouragement, and from its 
appearance I took fresh courage and kept moving, as if impelled by 
an unseen power “ on to Richmond.** 

It is said the darkest part of the night is just before the dawn; 
so I have always found it; and it has been my observation, too, that 
the safest time to scout is just before or at dawn; then all animal 
nature seem to sleep or, at least, be off their guard, thinking, perhaps, 
everybody else like themselves are sleepy. 


This was one reason why I was able to travel some distance after 
the Rebel cavalrymen in such apparent safety. I knew that, if they 
returned along this road, I should be able to discover their approach 
a long time before they could get up to me, and could get out of the 
way. I judged rightly, too, that they would be the only trouble I 
should have to overcome, as it was evidently their assignment to look 
after that particular section. i 

Why didn’t I get ahead of them? I didn’t have a horse, and it 
was safer to follow them than have them follow me. They would 
ask at every house if a stranger had passed. In this wa)' - they had 
caught up to me once. Now they will be told at each house ahead 
of me that no one had been along that way. 

That’s the way I was arguing the question in my own mind that 
morning. I moved along rather hopefully, not intending under any 
circumstances to approach a house or to allow myself to be seen by 
any one. 

But I was tired, weak and so hungry; and the best resolutions 
can be broken down by the pleasant odor of good cookery from a 
farm-house, especially when it’s wafted out to a poor hungry devil 
on the road. 

I had discovered about sunrise some blue wood-smoke curling up 
over the tops of a little growth of trees to the side of the road yet 
some distance ahead. Knowing that I dare not approach from the 
road, I crawled wearily over the fence, and rather reluctantly began 
my old tactics of flanking the place and advancing in the rear of it. 
When I got through the woods and came to the oj:>eniiig nearest the 
house, I found myself almost behind it. 

The house was larger than any that I had seen the previous 
evening, and I gathered from the appearance of several little out¬ 
buildings, which I judged were ‘‘quarters” for the negroes, that 
the place belonged to a well-to-do Virginia slave-owner. There 
was no'smoke coming from the large house; it was from one of the 
little buildings that I supposed was an out-kitchen. The proprie¬ 
tors, or white folks, were evidently still asleep. An old aunty was 
prowling about the wood-yard gathering up chips. 

The pangs of hunger and thirst were driving me pretty nearly 
wild, and, being so dreadfully weak and exhausted, I felt that I 
must have something to eat; that only a cup of coffee would do me 


TUE BOY SPY. 


185 


for tlie rest of the day. But I must have something to eat to keep 
me alive. Desperate, and believing it to be the safest time to take 
the risk, I walked boldly out from my hiding place straight up to 
the quarters, determined to appeal to the old aunty, for a bite of 
something. She had gathered her apron full of chips and had gone 
back into the kitchen with them, so that I was able to follow her 
to the house unobserved, and was flattering myself that I had suc¬ 
ceeded so well when all at once two dogs that I had not seen rushed 
savagely down the back yard toward me. I raised my two arms in a 
frightened way as they rushed on me; the foremost one sprang up, 
placing his feet on my breast and tried to reach my face or throat, 
but only succeeded in inserting his teeth in the fleshy part of the 
muscle of my left arm. As I had only the thin covering of the shirt, 
he tore this in a distressingly painful manner. I have the marks 
yet on that arm. The wound has been a painful one at many 
times during these twenty-five years ; but the Pension Office regu¬ 
lations do not “ compensate 99 for the bite of a bloodhound, so I 
have not mentioned it outside my own family. 

The old colored woman rushed out, followed by her old man, who 
grabbed the dog by his hind legs and threw him over; the two other 
dogs, attracted by the scent of the dead man on my shoes and trou¬ 
sers, could scarcely be driven away from me. 

The old woman kindly took me into the kitchen and washed the 
bloody arm, and bound it up with a piece of turban which she tore 
olf for the purpose. Without asking any questions, I was given a 
cup of good black coffee and some hoe-cakes, which I gulped down 
with a relish. 

These poor, ignorant, black people knew instinctively that they 
were succoring a friend, and at a very great risk to themselves; and 
to relieve them of any fear for their own safety, should their con¬ 
duct be discovered, I told them the old, old story about being lost 
on the road, etc. 

The old man, who had been watching out of the doorway as I 
ate my breakfast at the hearth, observed, knowingly: 

“ The master’s folks isn’t out of bed yet, but I specs dein sogers 
will want dey hosses, so I’se gwine along to de barn to feed, Liza.” 

The hint was sufficient, and to my hurried inquiry: 

“Are there any cavalrymen at the house?” 


186 


TEE BOY SPY, 


“Yes, Meed; dahs a whole company sleepin’ on de front poach’ 
over dar.” 

“ How long have they been here ?” said I, putting down my cup. 

“Dey comes liyar most every night, and sleeps on dat iioacli tel 
they get over breakfast.” 

That was sufficient. I had lost all pain in my arm; my hunger 
had been satisfied with less than half a breakfast, and. Hastily 
thanking the old aunty, I made an excuse about not wanting them 
to know I was out of camp, and left—the shortest cut for the 
woods. 

I was up to my pursuers, and had left them asleep on the porch, 
awaiting their breakfast. This would give me an hour’s start 
ahead of them, and I gathered renewed courage from the belief that 
they would return from that point. 

As I have heretofore said, I am not a believer in Spiritualism, 
but I have always felt convinced in my own mind that the dog was 
sent by a higher power to prevent me going up to the house where 
were sleeping a half a dozen or more Rebel cavalrymen. 

I struggled along through the dreary, desolate, pine woods, skirt¬ 
ing the roads and avoiding houses, suffering with my wounded foot, 
wrist and arm; fortunately the houses were not many, which allowed 
of my using the road more freely. It was along about noon, I think, 
when I reached the top of the hill at the old town of Falmouth, 
which overlooks Fredericksburg and vicinity. Here was an obstruc¬ 
tion in the shape of the Rappahannock river, which had to be 
crossed by a ferry into Fredericksburg. Of course, everybody who 
crossed there would be scrutinized closely, so that their identity 
could be traced. 

It may be asked, why did I not attempt to reach the Potomac 
from this place at this time. I don’t know exactly why, except, 
perhaps, that I felt I was being impelled by some mysterious power 
to go to Richmond. 

The Potomac was only about ten or twelve miles distant, but it 
was also four or five miles in width, and the Rebels controlled all 
the means of communication across to Maryland. Richmond was 
forty miles distant, and a railroad ran there from Fredericksburg. 

Luckily for my purpose, a drove of horses, being steered by an 
eld farmer and two colored men, made an appearance at the top of 


TEE BOY SPY. 


187 


the hill leading into Falmouth. Seeing my chance, I asked one of 
the drivers to bo allowed to ride an “ empty” horse over the river. 
He consented, and in this way I rode down the hill, and we crossed 
the Rappahannock and entered Fredericksburg in August, 1861 . 

I had intended to stop at Fredericksburg and run the gauntlet 
of the railway trains into Richmond, but I found myself so comfort¬ 
able, seated on the bare back of a horse, that I concluded to stay 
with the drove the balance of the day, so we passed right through 
the town and on down the main road to Richmond. 

I felt reasonably safe from pursuiu. Bloodhounds would not be 
able to track me that night, as they i nost certainly would when i ny 
presence at the colored shanty should become known. 

The old uncle told me that the dog that bit me was a young 
bloodhound, and that the proprietor of the house kept a pack, and I 
suspected that the object of the officers in visiting him was to secure 
their use. But, in getting on a horse and crossing the river, I had 
eluded their scent, and felt safe enough from further danger in that 
direction. It was also fortunate for me that I was further able to 
disguise myself, by traveling the road in charge of a couple of col¬ 
ored men with a drove of horses that were being sent to Richmond 
for the army. x 

That evening, without further adventure or trouble, except that 
I began to suffer from my foot and arm, we reached an old-fash¬ 
ioned, out-of-the-way stopping place, called Hanover Court House, 
where the colored boys had been ordered to keep the horses over 
uight. 

They found entertainment in the quarters. I was received into 
the house as a wounded refugee soldier cn route to Richmond, and 
treated in first-class shape by the old landlord and his kind wife. 

I had a new story for them that took real well. 

I slept soundly in a nice bed between the clean, white sheets. I 
am sure that I felt devoutly thankful for the home-like, pleasant 
change in my surroundings from the two preceding nights. 

The agreeable change in my surroundings that remains most 
grateful in my memory is, that the kind-hearted and motherly old 
landlady, seeing my wounded, bleeding arm, which had soiled the 
whole side of my already pretty dirty shirt, at once waddled off to 
fanthom from the depths of some bureau drawer a nice, clean, white 


188 


THE BOY SPY. 


shirt, and with it across her arm she marched back to my room 
almost out of breath, because she was so stout, saying: 

“My dear, you must take off that shirt, which seems to be 
soiled by your wound; here is some fresh linen that you will please 
use.” 

The old gentleman, who though not so rotund as his wife was 
fully as kind, approvingly observed: “ Why, of course, mother, 
that’s right;” addressing me courteously, “Is there anything else 
we can do to make you comfortable, sir ? ” 

Thanking them profusely and perhaps tearfully, I asked only 
for a little warm water, before retiring, that I might bathe 
and dress my wounded arm—to which request the old lady called 
ou 

“Cliloe, have some warm water brought here at once—you 
hyar ?” She “hyard.” While I was yet telling these dear old peo¬ 
ple some of the most bare-faced lies about myself being a wounded 
refugee from Maryland, etc., Chloe waddled into the room with a 
bowl of water in one hand and a couple of towels across her black 
arm. 

Her appearance interrupted for the time the flow of yarns, as 
both the old gentleman and lady excused themselves, first directing 
“Aunty” to help the “young gentleman to dress his wound.” 

Aunty stood up in front of me with both slveeves rolled up, as 
if ready for a light, when I should strip off the old shirt, which was 
sticking closer than a brother to the sore spots. But Aunty very 
kindly helped me as tenderly as she could, and when my torn, 
inflamed arm was exposed she could not refrain from uttering a cry 
of sympathy, and wanted at once to go down to bring up the 
“Missus” to see it. I would not allow her to do that, and, Avith 
her aid, I'washed as well as I could, and was about to pull the shirt 
on over it, when, without asking my consent, old Aunty marched 
out of the room, saying: “ Ise gwine get Missus put sothin on dat 
arm,” and disappeared. Very soon the old lady embarrassed me 
by walking boldly into the room; and, after a few motherly words 
of sympathy, she took hold of me, as if I were a half-naked 
baby, and turned me around for her inspection. Then giving a few 
words of direction to “ Aunty” to bring certain articles, she took 
motiverly control of me, and for the time I became as a child in her 


THE BOY SPY. 


189 


hands, and was put to bed after my wound had been carefully 
dressed and wrapped by her own kind hands. 

The old gentleman made an appearance, too, with some medi¬ 
cine for the inner man, which I swallowed like an obedient child. 

We had, previously, had some supper. I was, of course, pro¬ 
foundly thankful for their kind attention, but w<is at last ordered, 
in the same kindly way: “ Don't talk another bit, but go to sleep!” 
and I did not require much inducement to court the drowsy goddess. 
That night no unpleasant dreams disturbed my heavy slumber. The 
ghost of the horrible, unburied soldier, on which I had stumbled the 
previous night, did not haunt me. I was dead to everything for the 
time, and slept as soundly as a child. 

The sun was shining brightly through the windows of my bed¬ 
room, on a beautiful Sunday morning, in August, 1861 , when I was 
roused from this refreshing slumber by the voice of the old 
“ aunty”— 

“Missus says yoiTd better have some toast and egg, and a cup of 
coffee, den you can sleep some moali. ” 

There is nothing that will rouse a sleeper so quick as the invita¬ 
tion to breakfast, especially if the sleeper has not been over-fed and 
surfeited. Toast and egg is a weakness with me even now, and 
when I heard the delectable words, “toast, egg, and coffee,” I 
was wide awake in an instant. But when I attempted to turn 
myself, so that I could see who had spoken these magic words that 
suggested such an agreeable aroma, I found that I was so sore 
and so much bruised that the attempt to move started through my 
whole frame twitches of sharp pain. “Auntv,” seeing that I was 
awake, came closer to my bed, and, in a kindly way, asked : 

“How is you dis mornin' ?” 

In attempting again to move, I was forced to cry out with the 
pain which the exertion caused. Aunty bade me, “ Jis you lie dar; 
I’ll fetch your coffee ! ” And walked out leaving me alone; and for the 
few moments all my distress and trouble came upon me like a sudden 
cloud, as I realized upon waking that I was yet in the enemy's country, 
far enough from home, while between us was almost the insurmount¬ 
able obstacle of the Rebel Army. I saw, too, that the hereto¬ 
fore unexpected danger of a spell of serious sickness was now liable 
to be added to my other troubles and difficulties. These gloomy 


190 


THE BOY SPY 


forebodings were dispelled for the moment by a gentle knock at 
my door and tlie kindly appearance of the mother of the house, 
upon my invitation to come in, who, with a pleasant “Good-morning/ 
walked up to my bed and placed her hand upon my forehead. 
Without asking a question, she said : 

“Why, you are ever so much better than I expected to find 
you this morning. ” 

This was pleasant news for me to be sure, as I had not specu¬ 
lated at all on being sick. When with a few more kind words she 
left me, I heard the landlord say: 

“Mother, don’t be in a hurry; wait till I give the young gentle¬ 
man his medicine, before he takes breakfast.” When he came into 
my room a moment later—I was trying to bathe my face—with a 
cheery “Good morning, sir; I hope you rested well, sir; just 
take this if you please, sir;” and I had to obey; “We will send 
over after the doctor to come and attend you, sir.” 

I became alarmed at this, fearing that their kindly feeling 
toward the distressed refugee would cause them to introduce to me 
some Confederate surgeon from the neighborhood, who might make 
a correct “diagnosis” of my case and expose me. I begged that he 
would not put himself to that trouble; that I should go right into 
Eichmond and would soon be among plenty of friends who would 
take care of me, etc. He rather insisted that it was their privilege to 
care for me, and that they could not consent to my undertaking to 
travel to Eichmond until I had sufficiently recuperated. I thanked 
him; but am afraid that I did not convince the old gentleman that 
it was not necessary. He left me with the understanding that it 
should be “As mother says about it.” 

But the circumstances rather dissipated my appetite for the 
breakfast, as I saw at once that it would be necessary for me to get 
away from them as soon as possible. A new trouble seemed to rise 
from the kind attention of this old couple. While I feared capture 
and detection on my account, I actually think that I dreaded most 
of all lest an exposure should happen while I was enjoying their 
hospitality. I could not think of having to confront these kind 
people, if I should be brought to bay, so it was that I made up my 
mind that I must leave their house the very first opportunity. I 
had not been questioned in the least particular except i $ to my com- 


THE BOY SPY. 


191 


fort and health. These people were too cultured and refined to pry 
into my history before granting any aid; it was enough for them 
that I had stated that I was a Maryland refugee, who had been 
wounded and was en route to Eichmond to find friends. They saw 
my crippled condition, and they gave me all the aid and comfort that 
was in their power. 

Seeing an old-fashioned ink-stand and quill on a small table in 
my room, I had the aunty draw it up close to my bed, from which 
I was to eat my breakfast. The drawer contained a supply of 
paper, and, taking advantage of the first favorable opportunity, I 
wrote, when alone, the form of a pass, such as I had seen in general 
use, and signed it in an official way with the name of a well-known 
Chief-of-Staff. 

There was unfortunately no red ink with which I could further 
add to its apparent official character. Looking about the room in 
the hope of finding some, my eyes rested on the bandage on my still 
bleeding arm. In another moment the pen was cleaned of all the 
black ink stains. I gently dipped it into my own bandaged wound 
and drew enough blood on the pen to write across the face of the 
pass, in back-hand writing (to distinguish it from the other) the 
almost cabalistic words in those days : Approved, and signed it in 
red with my blood. 

The red ink “took beautifully . 99 

At the next visit of my host I took great pleasure in exhibiting 
to him my “ papers.” He glanced at it approvingly, and no doubt 
the red ink indorsement was sufficient. Hot deigning to examine 
farther, he said : “I don’t want to question the character of a gen¬ 
tleman in my own house, sir, especially the word of a soldier, by 
Gad, sir—he laid it aside, as of no consequence. I had told the 
same old story of the refugee so often, had the character down so 
fine, that I almost believed it myself. Of course, there were varia¬ 
tions to suit the different circumstances, but it was nearly always a 
Maryland boy far away from home. I could not possibly disguise my 
voice and dialect sufficiently to pass in the South for a Southerner. 

I had been living in the South long enough to have learned the 
peculiarity of its people, and knew very well that I could not over¬ 
come the difficulty. So it was necessary, even at great risk to 
myself sometimes, to continue to play the dual character of a 


192 


THE BOY SPY. 


Maryland refugee and an English boy from Texas. There were a 
great many young people constantly coming over the line from 
Maryland into the South, and most of these, after a few days “out¬ 
ing,” corresponded very well with my appearance or condition in 
this, that they were “busted,” having sacrificed all but their lives 
for the cause, and were now hankering for a chance to offer that on 
the Southern altar. This immigration helped to further my pro¬ 
jects. 

I had told my kind host and hostess a tearful story of my suffer¬ 
ings ; how my coat, and all the money that was in the pockets had 
been stolen while I was sick, and that I was now going to Rich¬ 
mond to replenish my wardrobe, just as soon as I could meet some 
friends, or hear from my home. This had the desired effect. Of 
course, I did not beg, neither did my kind friends see it in that 
light; but, all the same, when the good people attended their coun¬ 
try church that Sunday they somehow interested the whole con¬ 
gregation, and a collection was lifted in a Virginia church for the 
benefit of a Yankee Spy. When they returned from church they 
brought with them several neighbors to dinner, and soon after I 
was waited upon by the old gentleman and his pastor, who, in the 
most considerate manner possible, presented me with an envelope, 
which he said: “Would be of service in making me comfortable 
until I met with friends.” 

Now the Good Spirit of my Sainted Mother in heaven, who had 
so often taken care of her wondering boy, certainly sent that earthly 
angel to me again, while I was alone in the midst of enemies on the 
Sunday. There was nothing that I so much needed as money, as, 
with it, I could hope to find means of escaping by some other route 
back to my home, and I would stay there, too. I was hardly allowed 
to thank the kind friends. After some further pleasant talk, which 
they indulged in to make me feel easy, I accepted their offer to 
the Rebel cause with the understanding that I should be able some 
day to repay it. 

“ Oh, no; some of our lady friends were anxious for an oppor¬ 
tunity to show their devotion to the cause, and were pleased to be 
able to aid, above all things, a worthy refugee who is spq far from 
home and sick.” 

TJudev the idfoumstanoo*, what else could, [ do hut take this ftdTfWi* 


THE BOY SPY. 


193 


tage of the good people ? With me it was a question of life and death; 
but I resolved in my heart, that if the time should ever come when 
our army entered that country, I should be on hand to plead for the 
protection of those who had unknowingly befriended a foe. 

I began preparations to get away as soon as possible, by telling 
my kind people that it was necessary that I should “ report’’ at 
once to certain officers in Richmond. I secured their consent to 
leave their care before I was able to travel. 

It was agreed that I should be allowed to depart at once for 
Richmond, and, with as much feeling as if I were an only son being 
torn away from home to go to the war, I bade them all a hearty, 
thankful good-by, and walked slowly to the railroad station, which 
was some distance off, to get an evening train from Fredericksburg 
to Richmond. 

The train came along in due time, and I got aboard with diffi¬ 
culty, because I was quite stiff and weak. Taking the first seat, in 
the rear of the car, I noticed at once, while being waited upon by 
the conductor, that there were in the forward part of the same car 
several officers in the Confederate gray uniform. This wasn’t very 
reassuring, and rather unsettled my nerves, because, you see, I had, 
from my past few days’ experience, imbibed a holy terror of any¬ 
thing in gray clothes. It was a Sunday, and, as they were proba¬ 
bly off on a leave, they were engaged in their own pleasures and 
were not likely to disturb me. The conductor informed me, when 
I offered to pay my fare to Richmond, that he was required to report 
all soldiers traveling to a certain guard, and asked my name and 
regiment. 

I assured him that I had a pass, and with that he walked off, 
and, in looking it up, I discovered that my blood approval had almost 
faded out. 

I watched him, expecting that he would go straight to the Con¬ 
federate officers; but he didn’t, and I was greatly relieved to see 
him go out of the car, slam the door behind him, and disappear in 
the next car ahead. I began to wish that I had remained at the 
Hanover a little longer, and saw at once that the possession of the 
money had probably gotten me into a bad scrape, because without 
it I should have walked, even though every step was a pain. I 
reasoned correctly enough, however, that I should be safer in Rich' 


THE BOY SPY. 


m 

mond, in the midst of the crowded city, than alone among country 
people, who would soon become curious about my history, and I 
prayed that I might be allowed to pass in safety this new and unex¬ 
pected danger of being reported by the conductor on arrival at 
Richmond. 

While I was thinking over these uncomfortable prospects, the train 
was dashing along toward Richmond—only a short distance now— 
there was a whistle, and while the train perceptibly slackened I had 
time to decide that I better get off, and before the cars had stopped 
altogether I had slipped quietly out of the door and dropped myself 
down on the ties. I stood on the side of the track long enough to 
see a solitary passenger get aboard; the conductor jumped on, and 
the engine puffed off, leaving me standing alone on the track. I 
was again free—for how long I could not tell. 

Still determined to take Richmond, I started on, wearily, to fol¬ 
low the train along the track, but being so weak and sore my pro¬ 
gress was necessarily quite slow, but I persevered, and along about 
the time the evening lamps were being lit I walked into the out¬ 
skirts of Richmond. 


CHAPTER XV. 


'SICK IN' RICHMOND—CONCEALED BY A COLORED BOY AND UNABLE 
TO MOVE, — AN ORIGINAL CIPHER LETTER SENT THROUGH THE 
BLOCKADE TO WASHINGTON THAT TELLS THE WHOLE STORY IN 
A FEW WORDS—MEETING WITH MARYLAND REFUGEES—THE 
BOY SPY SERENADED —“ MARYLAND, MY MARYLAND "•—JEFF 
DAVIS' OFFICE AND HOME — A VISIT TO UNION PRISONERS AT 
LIBBY PRISON, ETC. 

Feeling my way along, to avoid guards that might be stationed 
in the principal roads entering the city, I was soon on Main street, 
Richmond, and I walked with an assumed familiarity in search of 
a boarding house. Finding a place that I thought would suit 
me, located on the south side of Main street, not far from the 
market, kept by a widow lady, I applied for lodging, proffering her 
the cash in advance. She accepted the cash and me without ques¬ 
tion, and being tired, weak and anxious to get to rest, I was at once 
shown to a room, and in a very few moments later I was in bed, 
and, with a feeling of security, was soon sound enough asleep in 
the Rebel Capital. 

There were two beds in our room, as in most other cheap board¬ 
ing houses, and waking early in the morning, I was surprised to 
see on the chair alongside of one of them, the too familiar gray 
uniform of a Confederate officer. I didn't take breakfast with the 
Madame, but hurried out into the street, and, after a hasty meal in 
a restaurant, I hunted up a Jew clothing shop on the Main street, 
where I invested a good deal of the church contribution in a snug 
suit of clothes, a pair of soft gaiters for my sore feet, a new hat, 
etc. 

The next step was to a barber's, where I had most of my hair 
taken off, and in their bath-room I donned my new clothes, and I 
flatter myself I walked out of that barber shop so completely dis¬ 
guised that my recent friends and enemies would not have known 
me. I was feeling just good enough to have called on Jeff Davis 
that morning, and believing that, as my visit would be short, it 


196 


THE BO 7 SPY. 


was well enough to have a good time, I walked rather proudly up 
to a certain hotel office and astonished the young clerk by regis¬ 
tering myself 0. K. Wilmore, Baltimore, Maryland. I notified an 
attache of the hotel that I had but recently arrived via the block¬ 
ade, and desired a small room for a few days, until I could meet with 
a lot more fellows who were coming over, you know, and was court¬ 
eously welcomed by the affablq clerk. The room to which I was 
shown overlooked the park, the Confederate Capitol building, the 
Governor’s mansion, etc., and there I remained an unwilling guest 
(after that day) for three long, lonesome weeks, sick in bed. 

Maybe it was a fortunate circumstance for me that I was thus* 
taken otf my feet, as it served to effectually hide or exclude me 
from sight, and frustrated any efforts that might have been put for¬ 
ward for my capture. In the meantime the sensation that was, per 
haps, caused by my escape had died out and I had been forgotten. 

As it was, that night I was taken sick and the next morning I 
was unable to get out of my bed. The trouble was principally dys¬ 
entery, such as was epidemic in the Rebel Army at Manassas, and 
had probably been caused by the bad water, or change of water, 
greatly aggravated in my case by the nights of terror I had under¬ 
gone. While in my weak condition, perhaps, I had overloaded my 
suffering stomach too much the first day of my arrival in Rich¬ 
mond. I can testify here to the fact that there was plenty to eat in 
Richmond in 1861, and it was not so very much more expensive at 
that time than in Washington. 

The hotel people of Richmond were a little dubious about refu¬ 
gee boarders from Baltimore, as I soon learned, and were inclined 
to be rather disposed to refer their sick guest to a hospital. For¬ 
tunately, I was able to prevent this by a prompt advance of a week’s 
boarding from my church-collection fund, which fully satisfied the 
Virginia Yankee hotel-keeper. It happened, too, that there was 
some change due me from the amount I had passed to him, which, 
in the princely style I had assumed, I graciously told him to keep 
for a credit on the next week’s account. I still had some money 
left, but not enough to pay another week’s expenses at that hotel, 
but it was best to keep up a good appearance. 

The colored boy’s name who served me with meals and who 
attended to all my sick wants, I regret, I have forgotten. He was 











































































































































THE BOY SPY. 


197 


indeed a good friend, and when my week was out and I was still so 
weak that it was impossible for me to move, he continued to serve 
me with three light meals a day in a room where I had been moved 
by him, which was located in a block of buildings which served as 
an annex to the crowded hotel. 

The hotel clerks, or the people at the office, supposed when I 
left the room that I had gone from the hotel; at least, they did not 
give me any trouble, and I have always thought my presence in that 
room was overlooked or forgotten by them in the great rush of their 
business of those days. This colored boy was one of the regular 
waiters employed at the hotel, who had for the week or ten days 
previous to my change served me regularly, and had told me several 
times, in explanation or in self-justification, that he was told to serve 
me every day, and he was going to do it until he was told to stop. 
Though I had not dared to breath to the poor colored boy even a 
whisper of my true character, yet it was instinctively understood 
between us that I was a Yankee. I knew this from his manner, 
and I could see in every move he made that he was so carrying on 
his little game to aid me that he might not be detected in it, yet it 
was so shrewdly managed that, if he had been picked up, lie would 
have readily cleared himself of all collusion by merely referring to 
his orders. 

In talking with him one day he remarked, with a significant 
grin : “ You always say dozen here, and that your going to g© up 

home; I thought you was going to stay in Dixie ?” I took the 
ignorant boy’s teachings thankfully, and was more careful in the use 
of the words after that lesson. 

I might fill a chapter with interesting stories of Richmond life 
which the boy gave me that were a pleasant relief for me, and served 
to while away, in my solitary sick bed, my first weeks in Richmond. 

I took the opportunity the leisure afforded me of putting in 
operation a plan for secretly attempting to communicate with my 
friends in the North. I realized that I should not be able soon to 
undertake any adventuresome travels, and T could not reach home 
by any easy stages. 

While yet a school boy I had practiced with my playmates a 
simple system of a cipher; with this, which was the easiest form 
that I then knew for a basis, I worked out in the form of a letter, 


THE BOY SPY. 


198 

that 1 could pass through to Baltimore on the blockade runners, a 
secret communication reciting my discoveries at Manassas, etc. 

It is an easy matter to arrange a system of cipher communication 
between any two persons, which will be readily and perfectly under¬ 
stood by them alone, or only by those who have been furnished with 
a key. In my particular circumstances, however, it was necessary 
that my letter should be a blind cipher, and so worded as not to 
excite suspicion, or distrust, and it must, besides, carry the key 
along with it, concealed of course, as I had not had an opportunity 
of making a preconcerted arrangement. I had intended to propose 
this to General Banks at the interview at Harper’s Ferry, which, 
unluckily, did not take place, as I have explained. 

The letter that was sent through the blockade is given herewith, 
as copied from the original, and I shall be glad to have the reader 
look for the secret information it contains before referring to the 
key, which follows: 

“ Confederate States of America, 
POWHATTAN HOTEL, 
Richmond, Va., August, . 18G1. 

“My Dear Father: 

“ For three weeks I've been quite sick, but am all-right now, and 
hope, through the kind atttention of Southern friends of ours in 

army, to soon be out again.-I will be greatly obliged if you will 

arrange to have money sent without delay, to pay my bills here, 
which were incurred on account of this most unfortunate sickness. 

. — lam satisfied it’s impossible to secure from our Confederate 
Maryland friends any cash advance, because I know they are all rather 
short, (having exhausted in getting here about half their money 
before joining Army. Since I have been absent from my regiment 
here sick, I have consumed what balance I had along. We are not 
at-all discouraged, or demoralized; on the contrary, we look forward 
to great things under Beauregard, who is in front of Washington. - 

“A greater portion of Marylanders stop at Blank’s, where I am- 

the house is large and pleasantly situated on a street up on top of 
quite a hill, that overlooks the Rail-road that runs out to Manasses 
Junction. We hope soon to march right on to Washington, and 
drive out the black abolition rascals, and will roll them back through 



THE BOY SPY. 


199 


Baltimore. Of course, all the Yankee papers give lying accounts, 
but official statements will give the proofs of our success. I wish 
some of the Northern Congressmen could see Ely or Covode, who are 
locked up secure in Libby prison; with them are a great lot, officers 
and prominent men who are looking quite disconsolate through 
their bars. 

“I met, Sunday night, a couple of young students lately arrived 
from the Georgetown College, who expect to signalize their devotion 
to the South in some heroic way. From their talk would think the 
boys fresh from their dormitory dreams of war. I will write again 
soon; will be glad to hear from home often, please send money soon 
as possible same way as before, so that I can pay up.” 

The preparation of this letter had given me interesting employ¬ 
ment while I was confined to my sick room. Though it is quite crude, 
and would hardly pass the scrutiny of the sharp.censorsinp tiiat was 
inaugurated later on, but considering the times, and the fact that 
letters of similar purport were being daily passed through the lines 
from Richmond by Baltimore refugees, it was worded so as to per¬ 
fectly blind those who might see it, and it answered its purpose very 
well. I had calculated to submit it openly to certain Richmond 
authorities, at a risk of being picked up on their casual inspection. 
I had been careful to select a blank, headed Richmond. No real 
names were given except Covode and Ely. I knew very well 
Covode was not at Libby, but Ely was, and I could see no other 
way of getting Covode’s name in, except to mix it with Ely’s and 
assume ignorance, if corrected. This letter was not sent to my 
father’s name and address, of course, but was directed to a certain 
telegraph operator who had been an office associate, and who was at 
the time in the employ of the military telegraph at Annapolis, Md. 

There was a little risk in using his address, but I knew that the 
fact of the party named on the envelope being in the Government 
service would not be detected in Richmond, and the understanding 
with regard to these letters was, that for a consideration they had been 
taken into the United States and mailed at Baltimore. An additional 
reason for sending it to this telegraph friend was, that he would 
be sure to discover the key to the cipher, and would then trans¬ 
late and properly deliver it. If the reader will look at an appar¬ 
ent flourish under the words, “My dear Father,” as-if under- 


THE BOY SPY . 


200 

scored, lie will observe three little dashes like this,-and a 

little further on a careless looking scratch of the pen, resembling 
.-This forms the key to the simple cipher, and the same char¬ 

acters are indifferently scattered about the sheet so as to attract 
only the eye of an operator. The three little dashes represent 

the Morse character for the figure five-(5), while the other 

signal, a dot and two dashes, is a W, which, when placed alone, is 
always understood to stand for word. Now the operator will be 
sure to see that 5, W, while the chances are that no one else but an 
operator would. The young friend to whom I had addressed this 
I knew would understand, from the tone of the letter, that it was a 
blind, and he would search for a different interpretation, and would 
soon discover the 5, W, which he would see referred to the fifth 
word. If the reader will read only every fifth word of this letter 
he will have the true meaning. 

Translation .—Been all through Southern Army, again obliged 
to delay here account sickness Impossible Confederate advance 
are exhausted half army absent sick balance are demoralized look 
under front portion Blank’s house situated on hill road Manasses to 
Washington black roll of papers official proofs wish Friend Covodo 
secure them officers are there night students Georgetown signal 
South from the dormitory will be home soon as can. 

The carefully studied phraseology of this crude letter, so that every 
fifth word which I would insert should properly read botli ways 
had given me considerable trouble, because I was especially desirous 
that, as a whole, it should at the first glance impress %ny person to 
whom I might find necessary to submit it that it undoubtedly 
enemated from a Bebel and a Maryland refugee. This thought 
once established in the minds of those who I anticipated had the 
censorship of mail matter from strangers, I was satisfied would 
result in forejudgement, or at least serve the purpose of allaying 
any suspicion as to it being anything in the nature of a secret com¬ 
munication to the enemy. 

What to do with my letter was the next important consideration. 
While yet so weak and thinned, as I was by the three weeks, illness 
and close confinement, I realized that I must yet continue to live in 
some such a quiet way as I had during my sickness. It would be 
folly for me to attempt to travel through the armies in the rough 


THE BC 3i 


m 


maimer that would be necessary if I should try to reach our lines by 
the underground or by running the blockade. 

The colored boy who had served me so kindly and so faithfully 
in the hotel annex, during these three weeks of sickness was partly 
taken into my confidence. When I began to feel like getting out, 
and my appetite had improved so as to make increased demands for 
his service to my room, I suggested to him one day that I hadn't 
enough money left to pay the bill at the office, and was especially 
sorry that I could not give him something handsome for his kind- 
mess to me. 

“ Don't you never mind me, as I don't want no money." It was 
then that I explained to him that I should like to be furnished a 
pencil and some paper so that I might write home for some money, 
etc. The stationery was at once supplied, and, as I had while lying 
on the cot bed during the long August days blanked out my pro¬ 
posed letter, I proceeded to work my cipher out on paper. 

My faithful colored boy felt encouraged by my talk with him to 
offer me some good advice: 

“ You don need to give no money to me, an if I war you I'd not 
give no money to dem clerks, either. I'd jis tell de ole man, if I 
was you, and he wont let dem take all you money, and you sick 
hyar." 

This advice, offered in his most friendly way, was none the less 
accepted thankfully, because it came from a slave boy and a waiter, 
in his own words, as near as I can give it. I learned that the “ ole 
man" was the proprietor of the hotel, and from his further descrip¬ 
tion I gathered that I had not seen him since I had been in the 
house. The man who had talked about sending me to a hospital, 
the first days of my illness, was only a clerk, though I had assumed 
him to be the owner, because he was quite old and had so much to 
say to me. He was easily “placated," anyway, by the cash I had 
tendered him, in payment for a week's board in advance. I have 
wondered often if I were indebted to his pocketing that money, for 
the fact that my presence was so completely overlooked. I would 
prefer, however, to give the colored boy the credit for having 
quietly “done as he was tole, and axed no questions." 

The “ole man " was an invalid at the time of which I am writ¬ 
ing, being confined to his room most of the day. I a ude some 


SOS 


TEE BOY SPY. 


anxious inquiries also about the “ole woman,” and was glad to hear 
that she was “So big an fat she doan go roun much." 

I was solicitious about the proprietor and his wife, because, you 
know, a great deal depended upon how he was going to jump after 
he had found out that I had been in the house two weeks, appar- 
antly without the knowledge of the office, and certainly without 
having paid any board for the time. 

One nice morning, while feeling pretty fair and bright, I decided 
to make the break, knowing that I had to do something soon. I 
gave my letter to the boy to deliver to the “ ole man," first, for his 
information as to the prospects of his getting paid, and, secondly, 
asking his advice as to the best means to have it sent [North. You 
will observe the apparent burden of my letter is for a remittance of 
money, and, in the second place, I wanted to get it suitably endorsed 
or vised by some one well known m Richmond, so that I would not 
have to show up personally in it. 

With a good deal of anxiety and heartache I waited in my 
back room for the boy’s return, which would bring me this verdict. 
I dreaded being suspected as an enemy in concealment more than 
to be sent out on the streets of Richmond, though I was so poor 
that I should soon starve, because too weak to attempt any kind of 
work. In anticipation of at least the latter treatment, I had dressed 
myself up carefully in my new suit of clothes, which I had bought 
the day before I took sick. They had become ever so much too 
large for me. A severe dysentery can waste a frail human frame 
considerably in three weeks. When I heard the footsteps of two 
persons down the long corridors—they had no carpet on that annex 
—my heart sank within me as they stopped before my door. In 
another moment my trusted colored boy had thrown open the door; 
and, as he stood aside to let the other person in, he said : “ Dar 

he." 

I felt sure for the moment that all was lost—that the boy had 
given me away. When the “ ole man " got up close enough I am 
sure he was struck by my very pale face. I was trembling from the 
effect of the suspense and tension to my nerves, and could scarcely 
hold my head up. The “ ole man " was not old at all, but a rather 
thin, benevolent-looking, middle-aged gentleman; he was lame and 
had apparently been very sick himself; his kindly manner reassured 


THE BOY SPY. 


203 


me in part, and when he bade me. “ Lie right down and keep 
perfectly composed; we will take care of you, my boy.” I did as 
he directed. I had to drop, and I turned my face into the pillow 
and sobbed like a big baby for a moment or two, so overcome was 
I in my weak condition by the breaking strain after and the reversal 
of feeling, it was so entirely different from anything I bad expected. 

The “ole man” bad a few words more of comfort, and, turning to 
the colored boy, said, rather savagely: 

“ Sam, you damn black rascal, why didn’t you tell me before 
that this young man was sick ? ” 

Sam began to explain by saying : r “ I done thought you know’d 
dat.” 

But the “old man” stopped him abruptly, with: “Get out; go 
and bring some brandy and water up here, quick!” 

Sam was glad enough to get out; and when he came back, in a 
few minutes, with a couple of glasses on a tray, he was grinning all 
over as his eve caught mine, as much as to say, “ I done tole you so.” 

The “ole man” administered the dose and, after a few more 
encouraging words, got up to leave, first giving orders to Sam: 

“ See that you attend to this young man right after this, you 
ugly nigger.” 

Sam seemed to be immensely enjoying the “'ole man’s” abuse. 

I was assured that I should be made easy until such time us I 
should hear from my friends. 

“Do you know Colonel Blank, of Baltimore ?” 

“ No, I didn’t, not by that name ”—and I had to admit ignorance 
of quite a number of others that he mentioned to me, saying that 
his house was a sort of refugee headquarters; he would have some 
of the Maryland boys look in and see me. I didn’t like that part of 
the visit, but there was no way now but to put a bold face on to any¬ 
thing that turned up. I felt that I was so thinned out and pale, my 
hair closely cut, and otherwise altered, especially by my new clothes, 
that I should not be recognized by anybody who had recently seen 
me so ragged in the Rebel Army at Manassas. 

“In regard to your letter,” he said, handing it back to me, 
“ I will have some one see you who understands about getting 
mail to Baltimore. I only know that they do send them, and that 
answers come here to my house almost every day.” 


Iii another moment I was again alone, and so overjoyed by the 
agreeable turn affairs had taken—or by the dose of brandy and 
water—that I felt almost able to dance a jig. I was free again; 
that is, I 'mis not burdened every moment by a fear that some one 
might drop in and discover my presence and begin to ask questions 
bout my past history. 

Feeling so much relieved in mind, I could not resist the tempta- 
tatien to go out of the room to have just one look at the sunshine 
outdoors. My boy provided me with a stick for a cane, and, with 
his aid, I walked out the long corridor and stepped boldly into the 
office. The first person I met was the old cle^k who had collected 
my first week's boarding. 

“You have treated me very badly, sir." 

I began to ask an explanation, really not knowing what he 
meant by making it such a personal matter, when he interrupted me 
and hurriedly walked off as he saw the “ ole man," who was point¬ 
ing me out to his wife at the moment. I walked along without 
further interruption, except to attract the attention of people whom 
we met by my weak, sickly appearance, and, reaching the park, I 
sat down under the shadow of the Virginia State House, which was 
then the Capitol of the Confederacy. In one corner of the same 
grounds the Governor's mansion was pointed out, then occupied by 
Governor Letcher, while below, or on the lower side of the square, 
I was shown the building occupied by President Davis for an exec¬ 
utive office. 

I was within sight of it all at last, and for two hours I sat there 
taking everything in, only regretting that my legs wouldn't carry 
me around more lively, so that I might investigate more closely. 

When I stumbled back to my hotel I was met at the office by a 
young clerk, who said he had been directed to introduce me to 
Colonel-, and would I be seated a moment. 

I had a right to believe, of course, that I was to meet the Mary¬ 
land people of whom the proprietor had spoken, but I dreaded the 
interview nevertheless. However, when I saw the Colonel was 
quite an ordinary looking man, with a jolly, round face and pleasant 
manner, my fears subsided, and I was able to feel easy in his pres¬ 
ence. I was introduced to several others as a Maryland boy whr 
was unfortunately sick among strangers, and I didn't have t* 


“ make up ” for the character of a sick youth. My appearance, 
probably, did have the effect of creating some sympathy, which was 
kindly expressed to me. The Colonel said: “ You have a letter 
to send home I am told?” 

“Yes, sir. I want to get some money very much. I don't 
want to go home, but would like to send for some money.” 

“Ah! yes, of course; that can easily be fixed. All you have to 
do is to put a United States stamp on your letter.” 

“ But don't I have to pay something for the delivery?” 

“Well, no; you don't have to; but, as it goes to a foreign 
country, you know, we generally pay the messengers a little for the 
risk.” 

Thanking the Colonel, I took my letter out of the envelope and 
begged that he would read it, so that the envelope would have the 
benefit of his endorsement. He did not think that necessary at 
all, but I insisted that he should learn of my affairs and my address, 
so that if anything should happen to me some Maryland people 
would know who I was. That was a good shot, and it took effect, 
too. He felt that I had given him my entire confidence as a brother 
exile from home and in distress, and he read my letter hastily—that 
is, he glanced at the address and the last paragraph, wherein I had 
especially asked for money. No doubt he was impressed with the 
truth of the statement I had made—that all Maryland refugees were 
hard up. Sealing the letter in his presence, I handed it to him with 
a tender of a fraction of the money which I had left, to pay the 
“ foreign postage. ” 

“ Oh no,” he said. “ I will not take your money for this; it's not 
necessary. Where shall your answer be delivered? This was some¬ 
thing I had not thought about, and for the moment I was embar¬ 
rassed. I remembered that I had referred to my regiment in my let¬ 
ter, and was about to say that the letter could be sent there; then the 
thought suddenly came over me, “ What if I should be questioned on 
this regiment ?” I did not want any talk of this sort, because it would 
be getting me into rather too close quarters. The Colonel, noticing 
my hesitancy as these thoughts passed through my brain and no 
doubt mistaking its true import, relieved me by saying : 

“ You had better go along over to Colonel Jones and be regi¬ 
stered, if you have not already done so." 


206 


THE BOY SPY, 


I had not attended to this matter of registering my name and 
address among the refugees from Baltimore, and, without knowing 
exactly what would come of it, I consented to have it done at once, 
as he had suggested. Pointing to a building on the opposite side of 
the square a little below where St. Paul’s Church is located, he said: 

“ That’s Colonel J. B. Jones’ office, and if you can go with me I 
will introduce you to him, and you can have all your Maryland mail 
come to his care.” 

1 walked across the square on his arm, and was formally intro¬ 
duced to Colonel Jones as a worthy Maryland refugee, sick and in 
distress. I am giving the correct name here, because he became a 
well-known character in Kichmond during the war. He impressed 
me as an agreeable, rather jolly, gray-haired gentleman of the 
old school, at the time. On the rather tedious and slow walk for me 
over the square, my companion had explained to me that Colonel 
Jones was himself a refugee, having been fired out of Philadelphia, 
where, if I remember aright, he had been printing a weekly paper 
which had been rather too outspoked in its sympathy for the South, 
and, as a consequence, it was, perhaps, violently suppressed. The 
Colonel informed me, as we walked along, that President Davis had 
organized the temporary bureau for the registration and general 
information of refugees and others who might, by the necessities of 
war, be driven from their homes. It was also understood that any 
persons desiring information in regard to Maryland refugees should 
apply at this bureau. This was not exactly the sort of a place that 
I had been hankering to register myself in, but I was in for it now 
and had to go through with it. Colonel Jones gave me his court¬ 
eous attention for awhile, and apparantly became interested in the 
little bit of my “history” that I dealt out to him. It is likely that 
my sickly, innocent-looking appearance had operated somewhat upon 
the generous sympathies of Colonel Jones. He assured me in his 
most agreeable manner that any time at all that I had a letter for 
my home to just drop it into his postoffice, and he wnuld see that 
it went out on the “ First Mail.” This was quite satisfactory to 
myself and my companion, who had placed the letter in the Colo¬ 
nel’s hands. I happened to recall that I had read a book over and 
over again, written by a J. B. Jones, that had made a great impres¬ 
sion upon my youthful mind, and I had worshiped the name in coii- 


THE BOY SPY. 


207 


sequence—the title of the book was “ Wild Western Scenes. ” The 
Colonel laughed heartily, and taking my hand gave me a second 
jolly shake as he said : c< He had met another of his boys—they were 
turning up every place—wherever he had been some one who had 
read his book had asked him that question. ” 

I had accomplished one very important step—in this, that I had 
opened communication with Washington from my location in Rich¬ 
mond. 

There was danger that my letters might fall into the wrong 
hands up North; but, as the person who carried them must, for his 
own protection, keep quiet, it was probable that no effort would be 
made to look after their destruction, once they were safely placed 
in Uncle Sam’s postoffice somewhere. I was also liable to be picked 
up in Richmond almost any day by those who had known me at 
Montgomery, Pensacola, or, more recently, at Manassas, and in 
Beauregard’s camp. Knowing that I could not travel in the rough 
manner as indicated, I felt wonderfully relieved to know that the 
letter just mailed would most surely go through more speedily 
than I could expect to travel at my best, and it contained in sub¬ 
stance all that I could report by a personal trip, which was in effect 
that: 

First —The Confederate Army could not advance , because 
thirty per cent, were sick, a great many absent on leave, and the 
rest as much demoralized after their victory as by our defeat. 

Second —That the official documents of the Rebel Surgeon• 
General, addressed to Richmond, would be found under a certain 
nouse as described, where it will be remembered that I had placed 
them. 

Third —That signals were being made from the dormitory of 
Georgetown College to Rebel out posts, or pickets who had been 
students at the College. 

When this letter would reach my telegraph friend, he would, 
most assuredly, find the key to the cipher and properly communicate 
with Mr. Covode, and through him the information, and I hoped 
the papers I had deposited would be recovered. I could not have 
done more than this myself, and, feeling that it was enough for one 
day’s work, I retracecLmy steps to the top of the hill, on which the 
hotel was situated, and finding my cot-bed again I was glad enough 


TEE BOY SPY. 


m 

to drop myself into it for a rest without the formality of undress¬ 
ing. 

Soon after Sam found me half asleep, when he came up to my 
room with some supper; his face was covered all over with the happy 
grin, peculiar to a colored boy, who has only this means of express¬ 
ing his pleasure. If he knew that I had made a successful explana¬ 
tion of myself, which had relieved us both of the fear of detection, 
he was too cunning to express himself in words. My Maryland 
Colonel, who had so kindly endorsed me to the refugee bureau and 
franked my contraband mail matter to Washington, came to see me 
in the room late in the evening, bringing with him another refugee 
whom he introduced as Mr. Blank, a lawyer from Elkton, Mary¬ 
land. I have really forgotten his name, but remember distinctly 
that he was from Elkton, from this circumstance. When I had 
subsequently returned North, while traveling from Philadelphia to 
Baltimore one day, I heard the name Elkton called out by the 
trainman, as we stopped at a country station. I rushed out on the 
platform on hearing the words and, while the train stopped, inquired 
of the agent and expressman about this gentleman. They both at once 
assured me: “ Oh, yes; he’s a great Rebel, and had to leave town.” 

The train began to move off, as I was hurriedly telling them 
about my meeting him in Richmond, and the agent became quite 
interested, following the train along side as long as he could, to get 
some information of him for his friends, who were living in the 
town. I heard from them afterward, and, as this Elkton lawyer 
and I became associated somewhat intimately for a month or two in 
Rebeldom, I have mentioned this circumstance by way of an intro¬ 
duction, and so that we will know him hereafter as “Elkton.” 

The Colonel, I learned, had been a store-keeper in one of the 
“lower counties,” and the twain had crossed the broad Potomac 
together from Maryland to Virginia one night, and had only been in 
Richmond a month or so. They were, of course, anxious to meet 
all the other refugees they could hear of, and so it came about that 
I made their acquaintance. Luckily for me, they were both from a 
section of Maryland distant from that which I represented, and 
neither of them for a moment doubted my “Loyalty,” but, on the 
other hand, both of these gentlemen seemed to think it a part of 
their duty to take care of me; and I take this opportunity to say 


THE BOY SPY. 


209 


to Elkton, or any of his family who may read this, that his kindness 
to me has always been appreciated— but , I must not anticipate the 
story—I was invited to share a bed or cot in the same room these 
two gentlemen occupied. Their room was located like the one to 
which I had first been assigned—the windows overlooking the park. 
I could from my room see all who entered the Capitol building, also 
had an unobstructed view of President Davis’ office, as well as that 
of other prominent officials. This “prospect” was indeed gratifying 
to me, and, as it may be assumed, much more satifactory than any¬ 
thing I had yet encountered in the way of “ facilities.” From my 
window outlook I ran no risk of detection, as would be the case if 
I were on the streets all the time. I was naturally most anxious to 
see President Davis, and to my rather eager questions in regard to 
him—as I look at it now—I was told by the Colonel that “ The 
President lives right around on the next corner on the next street. 
He walks through the grounds to his office every day; I’ll show him 
to you, the first chance.” 

That night I lay down early, and had scarcely gotten into sound 
slumber, and was, perhaps, dreaming of home, when I was roused 
gently by the Colonel to listen to “ the serenade.” On the street or 
pavement in front of the hotel a large crowd had gathered, composed 
partly of a company of men without uniforms, who had marched in 
the rear of a band. I was informed that they were the nucleus of a 
company or regiment which was to be composed entirely of Mary¬ 
landers, who were expected to arrive in Richmond by details of 
three and four at a time. The purpose of the visit that night was 
a serenade to Marylanders, the band having been furnished by 
kind sympathizers among the Richmond people, who took the 
opportunity to compliment the refugees. Now, if I were to say 
that a band had been known to serenade a Yankee Spy, the state¬ 
ment would have been laughed at as rediculous, yet the facts are 
that the serenade was tendered in Richmond, in part at least, to a 
Yankee Spy, as the collection was raised for the same in a Virginia 
church. There were but three of us in the hotel that night—the 
Colonel, Elkton, and myself—and it was the presence of this trio 
that had brought the band under our window. They played in a 
highly effective style, considering the peculiar surroundings, all 
their own Southern airs, among which was “Maryland, my Mary- 


210 


THE BOY SPY. 


land." This is a really beautiful air, which is familiar to all who 
ever associated with any crowd of rebels who could sing. The beau¬ 
tiful air—the significant words so full of pathos and sympathy, espe¬ 
cially under the existing circumstances and surroundings—was ren¬ 
dered in a style so sweetly pathetic that the effect produced on my 
memory that night will never be effaced. After the band had played, 
all the crowd present, recognizing its appropriateness, gave them 
with a hearty good will round after round of applause. Cries were 
made for an encore, and, while the excitment it had created was 
still high, the entire company of Maryland recruits burst forth into 
a full chorus of their own good voices and sang, with even greater 
effect through, this sweet old war song, “Maryland, my Maryland/ 
After they had left our hotel, it was understood the band, with 
the crowd of followers and all the Marylanders in the city that had 
been gathered up, were to call on Jeff Davis and give him a sere¬ 
nade of “ Maryland, my Maryland." I was not able to attend it, 
but I suppose the records of the rebellion will show somewhere 
that Jeff Davis made a fine speech of welcome to the persecuted 
exiles from Maryland—my Maryland. Mv room-mates had both 
gotten out of the room at the beginning of the uproar. I lay 
awake a long time waiting for their return that I might hear the 
talk of the further serenade at the President's and Governor 
Letcher’s. They were both full of it, of course. Their conversation 
that night, if reported in shorthand by the Spy,, who lay awake an 
interested listener, would make an amusing chapter—read by the 
light of the present day. I gathered one point from them that I 
had not thought of before, which gave me some food for reflection. 
They both intended to unite themselves to the Rebel Army, but 
each of them wanted to be officers. If I remember aright, there 
was some “ constitutional" difficulty in the way of President Davis 
forming a Maryland battalion—at least, my impression now is, 
that he could not issue commissions, which was the duty of the 
Governor of Maryland, and it was necessary that some sort of a 
“ Governor v should help him out of the new State-rights difficulty. 
They got over it in some way, however, as they did other State 
sovereignty questions. Elkton subsequently became a Lieutenant 
of the 3rd Battery of Maryland Artillery. I learned from their 
talk that night that they both expected, as a matter of course, that 




THE BOY SPY. 


Zli 

I would join their Maryland battalion. With them, it seemed to he 
only a question of time, or until I should he sufficiently recovered 
from my illness. I imagined that I saw in this scheme of theirs a 
way out of my difficulty to further serve the Union. Of course, 
when I should he able to move about it would he necessary to do 
something; that I could not stay at the hotel indefinitely without 
money was certain, and it was also equally certain that I should not 
get any money, even in answer to my letter. 

I had expected to get back by using their underground system, 
as soon as I would he able to travel by that line. But, as I had 
opened communication, I realized the correctness of my theory—that 
I could best serve the North by not at once attempting to return, 
but by remaining in Richmond, to watch and report the progress 
of events there. 

One of the first walks I took after getting out of my room was 
to the house of President Davis, which was, and is yet, beautifully 
located on the top of the hill; indeed, it is almost on the edge of 
a precipice that commands a view of the low country to the north. 

The Colonel had not observed in my letter the reference to “ my 
regiment. ” Now that it had been sent off without his, or any¬ 
body but the sick proprietor seeing it, I was glad to drop any ref¬ 
erence to a previous connection with the army at Manassas. My 
story was, in brief, the same old thing, done over to suit the altered 
condition of things. I had told the Colonel about coming through 
Manassas; that I had been delayed there expecting to meet some 
of my Maryland friends, but was taken sick and had come on to 
Richmond for them. That, and the letter, and more especially my 
appearance, coupled with the greater inducement that he saw a 
recruit for their Maryland battalion, was to them all sufficient. No 
questions were asked by either him orElkton; they were satisfied 
themselves, and their cordial introduction of myself to their other 
friends were enough to fix my status in Richmond for the time 
being. I was kindly treated by all with whom I was brought in 
contact, through the influence of my two newly-made friends. As 
I have stated, the first visit was, by courtesy, made to the President’s 
House. I did not find it advisable to thrust myself onto Mr. Davis 
just then. The next point of greater interest to me was Libby 
Prison, where were confined a great number of the officers captured 


SIS 


TEE BOY SPY. 


at Bull Run. I learned, upon cautious inquiries, that Libby was 
situated at the other end of the town, or about a mile distant from 
the hotel. This was quite a long walk for me to undertake, but I was 
almost sickened with the everlasting and eternal Eebel talk, which 
I had been forced to hear every day and hour for so long, that I 
felt in my soul that the sight of one true-blooded Union man would 
do my heart good, even though I saw him through iron bars. At 
the first favorable opportunity, on finding myself alone, I started out 
for a morning walk, leading in the direction of Libby Prison. 
Once on Main street, I began to feel a little apprehensive lest I 
should run against some one in the crowded throng who might 
recognize me. There were a great many soldiers in gray moving 
about the streets. It seemed, too, as if everybody I met was staring 
at me, and probably they were—as an object of pity. I became 
more accustomed to it, however, as I began to see that the interest 
being centered on me was probably due to the fact that I had been 
sick, and showed it in my appearance and walk. I felt more 
assured, too, when I saw, after awhile, that no person seemed to 
care much after all who I was, after they had once gratified their 
curiosity by a stare. 

I wanted very much to gaze once more on a Union soldier, and 
one, too, who had fought in a real battle against these howling, 
blowing Rebels, even though he were defeated and was then a 
prisoner. I saw them, lots of them, through eyes that were 
pretty watery, and with a heart throbbing so hard with a fellow- 
feeling for them that I was almost afraid that I should lose control 
of myself, and I turned away. Through the barred windows of the 
prison I could see a room full of the boys in their ragged but still 
beautiful blue, as compared with the gray of the guard. They 
talked together in groups ; some were laughing heartily, as though 
they were having a fine time among themselves ; others walked up 
and down the floor with heads bowed and their arms behind 
them, as if in deep study. Occasionally I would catch the eye of 
some one looking through their bars at me; and, oh, dear, what 
wouldn’t I have given at that moment for the privilege of being one 
of them—of making myself known with a shout. I felt that 
moment that it were far better to be a real prisoner of war, even 
though confined to the dreary walls of Libby, than to be as I was 


THE BOY SPY. 


213 

at the time, in truth or in anticipation, a prisoner already con¬ 
demned to execution. Though apparently at liberty, I felt as 
Wordsworth writes, that I was not only 

** Homeless near a thousand homes.” 

But, also, that, 

94 Near a thousand friends I pined and wanted friends.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 


RICHMOND—HOLLYWOOD—JEFF DAVIS—BRECKINRIDGE — EXTRA 
BILLY SMITH—MAYOR, GOVERNOR, ETC. 

It should bo remembered that I am writing of Richmond, as 
I found it during the beautiful autumn months of September, 
October and November, 1801. The same conditions did not pre¬ 
vail in the years that immediately followed. It would no doubt 
have been impossible in 1864 to have overcome so easily the obsta¬ 
cles I encountered in 1861-2. 

One other important factor in my favor is, that, after the suc¬ 
cess of Bull Run, the Southern people generally, and especially those 
about Richmond and Manasses, were so enthused as it were by the 
recent success that they became, for the time being, quite careless 
and were not disposed to closely scrutinize strangers who happened 
to be among them. 

I realized these facts at the time, and profited by it. I began 
to feel so secure myself that I became quite careless about my own 
safety, and, as I became stronger each day, I spent pretty much all of 
my time either on one of the benches in the Capitol Square or leis¬ 
urely walking over the streets of the city. 

It became a daily custom with me to secure early a certain seat 
in the Capitol grounds, from which I could look directly into the 
front windows of the room which Jeff Davis occupied for his execu¬ 
tive office. I had selected this bench because, from its location, 
which, by the way, to he exact, I will state was near the statue of 
Henry Clay, I could observe every person that either went into or 
out of the large hall door down stairs, which led to Mr. Davis* 
apartments. I was most anxious to get a glimpse of Mr. Davis, 
whom I had last seen at the Exchange Hotel at Montgomery dur¬ 
ing the bombardment of Fort Sumter. From my position in the 
grounds I could not, of course, see into the room in which I knew 
Mr. Davis was located, but I could imagine, from the number of 
people who were constantly going and coming, that he must have 
been kept pretty busy entertaining them, i did not find it advis- 


THE BOY SPY. 


215 


able at that time to thrust myself upon his attention. It was only 
after several long waits and disappointments that J was one evening 
gratified to see my cld Montgomery friend come out of the hall-way 
in company with the present distinguished Senator from Texas, 
Hon. John II. Regan. They stood together on the steps a few 
minutes engaged in conversation, when Mr. Davis, with a court¬ 
eous bow, turned to his carriage, which was waiting at the curb, the 
door was shut with a bang, the driver turned his horses, and in a 
moment more they had disappeared around the corner of the square, 
as they drove up the hill in the direction of the President’s man ¬ 
sion. 

It was generally understood by my refugee associates that, as 
soon as l was sufficiently recuperated, 1 would unite with the 
other Maryland refugees in the formation of a Confederate com¬ 
pany of volunteers. They had taken me in charge, as it were, and, as 
they had voluntarily guaranteed my hotel expenses, I could do no 
less than to tacitly accept the situation. Even at that early day 
there was considerable rivalry in the matter of securing recruits for 
the newly-forming organizations of the Rebel Army. One reason 
of this was that, in their army as it was in ours, at the first of the 
war the commissions were generally given to those persons who 
were most active in securing the necessary recruits to fill out a com¬ 
pany’s quota. While these two Maryland gentlemen were quite 
kind to me and had personally helped me through my sickness, I 
saw that their object was not altogether disinterested. In vouching 
for my expenses they were perfectly safe themselves, as it was under¬ 
stood that 1 should secure the very best bounty that was being paid, 
and out of this fund it was known I should be able to pay all my 
sick bills. So you will see how it came about that, while my two 
guardians were busy most of the day in skirmishing about for their 
recruits, as well as looking out for their own prospects for commis¬ 
sions, I was indulged in every thing that they could at all assist me 
in, and was in general terms given the “ Freedom of the City.” 

It became a favorite walk with me on pleasant afternoons to 
wander out to the beautiful Hollywood Cemetery, one of the most 
lovely spots in all Virginia. Hollywood has been so fully described, 
even before and after the war, that I need not attempt it here. 
With, me Hollywood had a peculiar fascination during my first 


216 


TEE BOY SPY. 


visit to Richmond,during that fall of 1861—the “ melancholy months 
of that year.” 1 found myself out there frequently, nearly always 
seeking out the one resting place, which was beautifully situated on 
the top of the hill, under a grove of large forest trees, close by the 
tomb of ex-President Monroe. The view from this point was 
superb. Directly underneath the hill, which overhung the river 
like a precipice, were the great falls of the James river* the water 
of which, coming from the Blue Mountains of Virginia, was 
splashing over the thousands of immense rocks standing up from 
the bed of the river, making a wildly-beautiful picture, extending 
for a mile or two up and down the river. Right beneath the ceme¬ 
tery, but out of sight of a rambler in the grounds, the railroad bed 
had been chiseled out of the hill-side rocks. Trains could continu¬ 
ally be heard rolling and whistling along, which I knew went near 
my friends in a few hours at Manassas and Fredericksburg. Near 
this, on the water’s edge, were located the immense Tredegar Iron 
Works, upon which the Confederate Government depended almost 
entirely for their supply of manufactured iron, and I believe they 
were also turning out at the time some large cannon for their 
fortifications and ships. I remember that I was impressed at the 
time, from over-hearing a debate in the Confederate Congress, that 
the loss or destruction of the Tredegar Works early in the war 
would have been one of the most terrible blows that could have 
been inflicted upon their cause, and I had embodied this statement 
in one of my “dispatches.” 

One evening a brass band paraded the streets, gathering up quite 
a crowd of followers. Always anxious to see everything that was 
going on, and a lover of brass music, I “ joined in” with the crowd 
and marched along with the band. We halted in front of the larg¬ 
est hotel in Richmond at that time—the Spottsword—since burned 
down—but then located on Main street. On inquiring, I learned 
that the excitement was occasioned by the recent arrival in Rich¬ 
mond of the Hon. John C. Breckinridge, recently the Vice-Presi¬ 
dent of the United States and Pro-Slavery candidate for President. 
It will be remembered that there had been for quite a long time 
considerable doubt or uncertainty as to which side of the fence Mr. 
Breckinridge would eventually jump. He had remained in Wash¬ 
ington City up to a very short time previous to his arrival in Rich- 


217 


L ^j t 

monel. One of the facts brought out during his speech that night, 
in answer to the serenade, was, that he was still a member of the 
United States Senate, he having so arranged it that his resigna¬ 
tion would not take effect until he was safe inside of the Con¬ 
federacy. I remember this portion of his talk very well, because 
at the time it impressed me as being very mean for a man of his 
standing, who had been so highly honored and trusted by his Gov¬ 
ernment, to pretend so long to be neutral, yet knowing all the time 
in his heart of the purpose to gather information and then desert 
and betray his Government. I felt in my heart then that the 
numerous Southern gentlemen who held official positions and vio¬ 
lated their oaths that they might betray their Governments, were 
cowardly spies whose methods were to be execrated, and anything I 
could do to frustrate them would be honorable in comparison with 
their service. 

Another point of interest is the “ old stone house,” which is sit¬ 
uated on Main street within a square of the Libby Warehouses. 
This old stone building, with the curled oak shingles on the roof, 
was General Washington's headquarters. 

We will pass the Colonial and Indian periods, the wars of 1776, 
1812, 1846-9 with this one sentence, and hasten up the Main street 
about a mile to headquarters of the Commander-in-Chief of the 
war of 1861-65. 

From the windows of my room I had a close view of the City 
Hall building directly opposite, which fronted on Broad street. 

One morning I observed an unusual excitement on the street in 
front of the City Hall. They were apparently preparing for what 
we would have thought up North was to be a bonfire. Of course I 
became an interested looker-on, but was almost afraid to ask any 
questions lest I should hear some bad news. I feared that the Reb¬ 
els were about to celebrate some victory over our armies, when I 
saw them pile in the middle of the street a great heap of kindling 
wood. 

The gray-lieaded man who was then the Mayor of the City was 
apparently overseeing these preparations. 

I had been in the habit of sleeping late, and while all this was 
going on outside I was alternately dressing myself and running to 
the window to watch the proceedings. 


SIS 


THE BOY SPY. 


Without waiting for breakfast, I went out on to the street to 
investigate. The first person I questioned, happened to be the hotel 
proprietor, who said, laughingly: 

“ Oh, they are just burning the gamblers’ stuff that the police 
captured on the last raid.” 

It seemed that Richmond had, and has yet, a law that compels, 
or at least authorizes, their Judge of Police Court to destroy by pub¬ 
lic fire in the open street any material or paraphernalia which has 
been used, or intended to be used, for gambling purposes. 

The Mayor of Richmond in 1861 was a Mr. Mayo. He was. cer¬ 
tainly an efficient official, as some of the Maryland refugees will 
bear testimony. 

Extra Billy Smith, who I think had been a Governor of Vir¬ 
ginia, was one evening put into our room to sleej), the hotel being 
quite crowded, it being the occasion of some Virginia State gather¬ 
ing. He was full of talk and kept our crowd aroused and inter¬ 
ested until late in the night. 

He was living, 1 believe, somewhere in the neighborhood of 
where the armies were confronting each other. 

One of his stories, which interested me more than anything else, 
referred to the death of the brother of the Secretary of War, Col¬ 
onel Cameron, of the 79th New York Regiment, at Bull Run. 

The body of Colonel Cameron, it seems, had been found after 
the battle inside of the Rebel lines. 

The news of his death having reached the Secretary of War—the 
lion. Simon Cameron—he was, of course, very anxious to have the 
remains sent back into the Union line for proper burial in his own 
State. 

At that time there was a serious question about the recognition 
in any official form of the Confederate States of America. it was 
necessary that the Secretary of War should address a request in some 
form to an officer in the Confederate Army, requesting the “cour¬ 
tesy” of burying the remains of his brother at home. With Extra 
Billy Smith it was a question of “curtesy” to the Confederates, 
and he related with great gusto the amusement the Secretary of 
War’s request for his dead brother’s body caused in the Confeder¬ 
ate officers’ quarters, because it was addressed —“ To whom it may 
concern.” Mr. Cameron probably had nothing to do with th$ for- 


THE BOY SPY. 


219 

mation of the note or request, and it is likely that whoever did it 
for him was obliged to adopt this, simply because they were igno¬ 
rant of the names of the proper persons in the Confederate Army to 
whom it should have been addressed. At any rate, it was a very 
contemptible piece of work to reply to the Secretary of War that: 
“ The officers of the Confederate States of America did not know 
that his note, addressed 4 To whom it may concern/ concerned any¬ 
body but himself 

I made a mental note of Extra Billy’s share in this business, 
determined that old Simon should have him marked. 

I presume that about the same general condition of things 
existed in Washington as in Richmond at the time I was there. 
There were undoubtedly Rebel spies, and plenty of them, running 
around loose in Washington, not only at that particular time, but 
constantly during the years of war which immediately followed. 

The Confederates had a very great advantage over us in this 
regard. Washington City and the Departments were literally full 
of their sympathizers, w r ho were able to carry on their work of 
assisting to destroy the Government, which was at the same time 
feeding them, as they were able to keep up an easy and safe com¬ 
munication through the country about. 

Some of these Department Rebel spies remained in the Union 
Government service not only throughout the war, but even now, 
after twenty-five years of Republican Administration, are yet in the 
government service. 

In Richmond and the country adjacent it was entirely different. 
If there were any sympathizers with the Union cause they were 
known and closely watched, and this was not a troublesome task for 
the Confederates, as there was not enough of it to occupy much of 
their attention. As a rule, the colored people were friendly to us, 
but they were at that time all poor, frightened, ignorant slaves, 
who dare not, under penalty of the most severe whipping, indicate 
by the slightest sign that they had any interest in a Union man. 

The colored people in Richmond were forbidden to assemble in 
any number together. If a half dozen slaves would accidentally get 
together to talk over the matters of life and liberty, that were so 
dear to them, it was the duty of any white citizen to order them 
to disperse. It is not generally known, and may be even doubted 


THE BOY SBY. 


220 

by the present generation of Virginians, that there was such a law, 
but it is a fact. Colored men were not permitted into the Capitol 
Square at certain times, being excluded by the same municipal 
law that applied to stray dogs. 

It is but just to say that this rule did not apply to Richmond 
alone, but to Washington as well. In 1861, and previous to the 
war, the colored boys and girls, as they were all called, even though 
they were grandfather and mother, were not allowed to enter the 
Capitol.or President's grounds at Washington. They were only 
permitted to peer through the bars of,the great iron fence that then 
surrounded the grounds. 

Every day, as regular as my meal-time occurred, I walked over 
into the Capitol Square and took my accustomed seat on the bench 
which gave me such good opportunities to see every person who 
entered President Jeff Davis' office, as well as a chance to observe 
the crowd that attended the proceedings in the Capitol building. 

I did not give their Congress very much attention, because their 
business seemed to be to talk only. I was interested only in the 
War Office, and especially in President Davis. 

The Virginia Legislature was also in session at the Capitol. We had 
a room-mate with us for several days who was a member of the State 
Legislature from somewhere in the mountain district. Our Mary¬ 
land refugee, friend Elkton, and this Virginia delegate, who was 
inclined to doubt the power of the President as compared with that 
of the Governor of Virginia, were continually discussing the ques¬ 
tion among themselves at night after we had all gotten to bed, 
very much to the disgust of the Colonel and myself. 

Governor Letcher seemed at the time to be a “ bigger man" in 
Richmond than Jeff Davis. The Governor occupied an elegant 
mansion, which is beautifully situated in one corner of the Capitol 
grounds, while President Davis' “ White House " was a large red 
brick building, situated right on the street, a few squares back 
of the Capitol, with only a small yard for grounds. It is a 
double house or a square building, with a hall through the middle 
and a number of rooms on each side. It was beautifully located in 
what may be called an independent position. I mean by this that 
there were no other houses immediately adjoining, but a yard or 
lot on each side as well as the rear. This lot or garden was enclosed 
by a brick wall. 


THE BOY SPY. 


221 


I frequently strolled up there to get a glimpse of the President, 
whom I considered to be in my care and keeping, to a certain ex¬ 
tent, so that I learned to know his habits or hours of arriving and 
leaving the house. 

I am not competent to make a pen portrait of Mr. Davis. He 
appeared to me at Montgomery and at Richmond in 1861 as quite 
a pleasant, but ordinary looking gentleman of middle age. He was 
usually dressed in dark gray clothes of the frock coat or Prince 
Albert pattern. T think ordinarily in a dark steel gray. His face 
was rather thin; the jaws being firmly set gave him rather a dyspep¬ 
tic appearance. 

Jeft Davis has only one eye, which fact I learned quite early, 
and I always endeavored in my intercourse! with the President to 
keep on the blind side of him. The one good eye was bright 
enough at that time, and I almost felt from his sharp glances 
toward me that he suspected me. 

One day it was reported that the President would review a regi¬ 
ment of North Carolina cavalry which was then organizing and 
had been in camp at the Pair Grounds. This was a long walk for 
me, but I had become sufficiently strong to undertake almost any¬ 
thing—at least I so felt—and as it would never do to miss this 
opportunity to see Jeff Davis in a military capacity, I started out to 
the Fair Grounds early in the day reaching there a couple of hours 
before the review was announced to take place, and sat down under 
the shade of the fence to watch and wait. The cavalrymen and 
their officers were busy cleaning up their horses and dressing up for 
the occasion. One troop was drilling on a distant part of the field. 

At the proper time the entire regiment were mounted, and, after 
a good deal of coaxing, and some cussing, they were formed into 
long lines, which a full regiment of horse makes. 

The Colonel of this regiment was the present Senator from North 
Carolina, Hon. M. W. Ransom. I heard some of the lookers-on 
among the crowd, in which I had placed myself, say: “ The officer did 
not dare attempt maneuvering the cavalrymen, because they were all 
green tar-heels from North Carolina, mounted on fresh horses, and 
if they would get out of the line, in which they were placed with so 
much difficulty, there would be such a circus, or hippodrome, in the 
Fair Grounds that we would all have to climb the fence for safety." 


THE BOY SPY. 


-*•3 


m 


We waited patiently and in crowds all the afternoon for the Presi¬ 
dent to come. It was until after his office hours, or about five 
o'clock p. M., that a half-dozen horsemen rode through the gate, 
and, amidst a blast from a dozen buglers, the President and staff 
trotted up to the front. To return the salute due the President wo 
have pretty nearly all been through an inspection, and know how it 
ought to be done, so I need not attempt to describe it here. 

President Davis and his staff, dressed in plain, citizens' clothes, 
rode along the front of the line, his one sharp eye seeming to take 
in every man from horses' hoofs to their caps. He turned slowly 
around to the rear of the line, and rode close to where I happened 
to be standing at the time, and to this day I remember the sudden, 
sharp glance as his eye caught mine. Perhaps it was imagination or 
a guilty conscience that gave me the feeling at the time, but, what¬ 
ever it was, I felt a shock. 

After the ordinary forms of a review had been gone through 
with, to the accompaniment of a half a dozen or so bugles, the 
President and his party dismounted and held an informal reception 
to the officers and the crowd at the Colonel's headquarters. 

I did not stay for this reception, because I was not, after that 
glance, particularly anxious to see Jeff at close quarters. I started 
back to the city on foot. I had gotten almost into town when I 
heard the Presidential party coming along the road behind me. As 
they came up, I stopped and was standing alone by the side of the 
road as President Jeff Davis passed. lie was then talking pleas¬ 
antly with some one who was riding along side of him. Seeing me, 
Mr. Davis turned away around, "probably so his good eye could get 
me in range, and gave me another look, that pretty nearly convinced 
me that he had recognized in me the Montgomery Spy. 

I do not suppose he gave the subject another thought, if he 
had at all entertained it, but I was made quite uncomfortable by the 
incident, which served to put me on my guard. I was becoming 
too careless. 

Indeed, I went to Libby so often that I began to get acquainted 
with a couple of the Kebel guards, who had a little camp on some 
vacant lots on the opposite side of the street. 

I had noticed that a few enlisted men from among our prisoners 
had r beep detailed by the Rebel officers to carry wy ter and Other* 









/ 


I WHISPERED TO HIM AS I WENT PAST. “NORFOLK IS TAKEN. 



































































































































































































« 


\ 


i ^ Ar 








s 




























THE BOY SPY. 


225 

wise wait upon or assist in preparing the rations for the Union 
prisoners. Of course these men were always accompanied by a 
home guard, in gray clothes, who carried a loaded gun. 

I had formed a rather foolish notion that it would be a great 
satisfaction to our prisoners if I could open communication with 
them, or, at least, that it would gratify them to let them know they 
had a friend who was at liberty in this city and anxious to serve 
them. 

I gave this up after one trial. One day while loitering in that 
neighborhood, as usual, I passed on the pavement the customary 
Rebel guard accompanying a couple of fellows who carried a bucket 
of water in each hand. 

It was about the time that Norfolk was taken by the Union 
troops, and, as it had been the only piece of good news that I had 
heard for so long, I was feeling quite elated over even that much, 
so, when I saw this procession of water-carriers coming up the street, 
I impulsively concluded at once to convey that information to our 
poor fellows inside the warehouse. 

They had stopped and set down their buckets to rest. Picking 
out a big, good-natured looking fellow in the blue clothes, who was 
one of the water-carriers, to experiment on, I walked up to him; 
without stopping at all or even looking at him, I whispered to him 
as I Avent past : “ Norfolk is taken.'' 

Never turning my head, I was Avalking on hurriedly when the 
blamed fool sang out after me so everybody could hear : 

“ What ?'' 

He didn't hear anything further from me. I had nothing more 
to say. Luckily the guard was as stupid as the prisoner, and no 
notice was taken of it. 

Close by Libby Prison is Rockett's, or the landing point in the 
river below the falls for all the shipping that comes up the 
James river from the ocean. At these wharves ocean vessels draw¬ 
ing eighteen and twenty feet landed their cargoes in the piping- 
time of peace. It is one of the busiest points about the city, but 
during the blockade, while the Union troops occupied Fortress Mon¬ 
roe, and subsequently Norfolk and the lower part of the James 
river, it was quite dull. There Avere, I believe, some gun-boats being 
fitted out here, and a few smaller-sized vessels were running irreg- 


THE BOY SPY 


tU 

ularly up and down the James as far as they could go, without 
encountering their own torpedoes. Union batteries, and war-ships. 
My interest in this place was accidentally aroused (as was Newton's 
discovery of gravitation by the fall of an apple from a tree) by the 
reflection, while listlessly throwing sticks of wood out into the 
stream, that they would naturally float into the Union lines in a few 
hours—the river that goes on forever certainly reached the Union 
gunboats, and I reasoned that if the water went to the Union gun¬ 
boats, that, of course, I could do the same by simply going with the 
stream. 

This was good logic if it was not good sense. I felt that the 
details for such a voyage would be easily enough arranged. I 
gave the matter my careful study, looking up all the maps that I 
could find bearing upon this river, and cautiously questioning every 
old colored cook, or seaman, that I could safely run against who 
had sailed up and down the river and could give me any informa¬ 
tion. In this way I was able to learn by detail pretty closely the 
location of the Rebel batteries along the river, and also to ascertain 
as nearly as was possible just where I would find a Union gun-boat 
or battery. 

My experience on ships of war at Pensacola had not been exactly 
pleasant, but I knew very well that, once at Fortress Monroe, I 
could be quickly identified from Washington, and all would be safe 
enough. 

I determined that,- when I should return, it would be via the 
James river and the bay. I preferred the risk of drowning or 
being blown up by torpedoes in the river to another chase over the 
hills through the Rebel lines of Manassas, and, as I was in no con¬ 
dition for that long walk that night, I thought it would be more 
comfortable to have the water to float me out of rebellion into the 
Union and under the old flag. 

Governor Letcher, of Virginia, frequently entertained great 
crowds of citizens at the elegant mansion provided by the State for 
her Governor. -It seemed to me that the people of Richmond gave 
more attention to their Governor than to President Davis. 

I could hear occasionally of some friction between the Confeder¬ 
ate Government and the State Government. Of course, they did 
not allow this to become generally known, but there was certainly a 


THE BOY SPY. 


225 


good deal of this feeling at Richmond, even as early as 1861, which 
increased in bitterness as the years rolled on. 

The State of Virginia had, before the war, a regularly organ¬ 
ized standing army of its own. Of course, there were but a few of 
these “ regular” troops, who were not at all like the militia of other 
States, but a permanent establishment, with a separate uniform of 
their own, and under the pay and control of the Governor of the 
State of Virginia. These few Virginia troops were distinct from 
the Confederates. Their principal duty seemed to be to act as a 
sort of “ Tope’s Guard” to Governor Letcher. 

There were always several of them on duty about the Capitol 
grounds in the capacity of guards or police; and, as a consequence, 
there were numerous conflicts between the Confederate officers and 
soldiers, who were quite numerous in the city at that time, with 
this Governor’s Guard. I saw one altercation which resulted in a 
shooting and running match—the Confederate winning over what 
he termed the “liveried hireling” Virginia Yankee. 

I had been giving the telegraph office a pretty wide berth during 
the early part of my stay in Richmond, fearing that I should meet 
some one who had known me at Manassas. I began, however, to 
stop at the large glass windows of their Main street office, to stare in, 
like the rest of the curious loungers who were attracted by the mys¬ 
terious tickings of the instruments, which were in sight from the 
street, the causes of mysterious movements and sounds of which 
were at distant points. 

In those days operators who could read by sound were not so numer¬ 
ous as they are now, and it was never thought necessary to attempt 
to prevent any person from hearing the sounds of the instruments. 
I was always very careful to first scrutinize the faces of all the 
operators before any of them should have an opportunity to first 
see me. As I have previously stated, an expert operator can read 
by the sight of the moving armature, or lever, which makes 
the sound. This was the way in wliichl had to attempt to read 
those instruments from the pavement on the main street of Rich¬ 
mond. 

To make this plainer to those who are not familiar with the 
mysteries of the telegraph, I will explain that the right and left 
motions, or swingings, of the signal flags, which were used in the 


226 


THE BOY SPY. 


army, represent exactly the same principle of reading characters by 
movement. This can be done through even so small a space as 
that usually taken by a ticking lever of a telegraph instrument, and 
its operation may be as light and quick in its action as the hand of 
a. watch. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


RICHMOND—A CLOSE SHAVE. 

My telegraph operations were interrupted for a while by a per¬ 
sonal incident, that occurred while I was still supposed to be on 
“sick leave.” One night I was in the barber shop of our hotel, 
getting myself primped for an evening out with my Maryland boys. 
While lying back in the barber’s chair, all covered up with 
lather and towels, I was startled to see through the glass, in my 
front, an apparition that had as great an effect on my nerves for 
the time as the traditional story of the devil looking over the 
shoulder of those who worship the looking-glass too much. 

I beheld, like a ghost, walking right up to my barber the super¬ 
intendent of the railway station at Manassas—the identical gentle¬ 
man to whom I had been sent by General Beauregard, and who 
would, of course, at once recognize me. 

My barber held his razor in his hand while he stopped to tell 
this gentleman that “ Ms turn would be after me.” 

It will not be possible for me to describe the sensations that I 
experienced the day when startled by the apparation, which appeared 
as though looking through a glass window in front , of my chair. 
Standing apparently in front of me was the one person, of all others, 
that I most particularly desired to avoid meeting in such a place as the 
Capital of Rebeldom at this time. Of course he must have learned, 
from the officers at headquarters, of my attempted escape to Wash¬ 
ington, via Fairfax and Munson’s Hill, and the subsequent chase 
through the woods the following night, in common with all the 
rest of the officials with whom I had been in contact about the 
telegraph offices at Manassas. He would, upon learning of this 
attempt to get away, recall all that I had been doing about the tele¬ 
graph office during those few days ; and, if careful examination were 
made into my past history, I knew that they must discover my true 
character. 

While talking to my barber about his turn, this gentleman stood 
right behind my chair, so close to me that his arm almost touched 

Mi 


T:m BOY SPY. 


m 

my bare head, that was lying back on the cushions. He looked ic, 
the glass while talking, stroking his face which certainly needed 
the attention of a barber, as he had just come from the front. My 
face was entirely covered with the soapy lather. 

The barber stood with his razor suspended over my head as he 
talked to the “ customer.” I am sure my face must have first 
turned as white as the lather. When I spied this gentleman, 
if I had not been already lying down, I am afraid that I should 
have suddenly collapsed, or have attempted to run off. As it was, 
being so muffled up in towels, and so completely disguised or masked 
by lather, and fastened, as it were in the stocks, by mere fright, I 
was prevented from making an exhibition of myself, and lay there 
for the time being as distressed as a wounded soldier on an ampu¬ 
tating bench under the hands of surgeons, and as helpless as if 
under the influence of ether. 

He was so much interested at the appearance of his own face, as 
he saw it in the glass over my head, that he did not closely scruti¬ 
nize me; in fact, he eould have only recognized me at that time, per¬ 
haps, by my eyes and upper portion of the face. And while he 
stood there I half closed my eyes, and purposely corrugated my brow. 
It was, of course, something of a relief to my suppressed emotions 
when, after an admiring stare at himself, he was sufficiently satisfied 
to go off and sit down among the other persons who were waiting their 
turn. I breathed a little freer, and gave such a great sigh of relief 
that the barber who was shaving me looked down at me with some¬ 
thing of an expression of wonder in his black face. I quietly 
recovered myself, however, and began instinctively to plan to get 
out of that shop as quietly and as quickly as possible. 

It would not do to get out of the chair, which had concealed me 
so well, until this dangerous apparition itself should be shrouded in 
a napkin and laid out on the chair, so that he could not have a free 
view when I should be ready to get out. He must not follow me 
in the chair I was occupying, as that would probably put us face to 
face, as when I should rise to give place to him. To prevent this, 
in an undertone I told the barber that I had been suffering with a 
toothache, and if he would give me a careful and slow shave and 
wash, that I would allow him double pay for the greater time he 
would have to put on me. This was a successful and cheap way of 


THE BOY SPY. 


£59 

getting out of so great a pickle. 1 had the satisfaction of seeing 
Mr. Superintendent invited into a chair a little way over from 
where I was located, and he had no sooner got safely tucked in than, 
I fear, I rather abruptly told my man: “ That will do; I will go now. ” 
The suddenness and celerity with which I crawled out of the chair 
and hauled on my coat and sneaked out of the door must have sur¬ 
prised that barber, and, if he had seen me get along the street and 
around the corner into the hotel office, he would have been puzzled 
still more. A glance at the hotel register showed not only the name 
of the superintendent at Manassas, but also that of another well- 
known railroad man, who had been about the station at Manassas 
nearly all the time I was up there. Without asking any questions, I 
stalked straight to my room, with a determination to gather up any 
valuables that had accumulated during this sick time, and to at 
once put as much distance as possible between myself and the ghosts 
that I had just encountered. I did not have the remotest idea, at 
that time, as to ivhere I should go. My only desire was to get away 
from Richmond and out of Virginia as quicly as I possibly could. 

I was homesick. There is nothing that will make a man or a 
boy so awfully homesick, when away from home and realizing that 
you cannot get there, as to megt with some such “unpleasantness” 
as this. It is a much more satisfactory thing, as I know from subse¬ 
quent experience, to meet your enemy on a skirmish line, knowing 
the gun in his hand is cocked and loaded, than it is to run across 
him while unarmed on his own dunghill. I did not like the idea 
of being “caught” as a spy. I always had more dread of the 
attendant humiliation connected with the probable surroundings 
of a prisoner, who was a recognized Spy, than of the final danger. 

When I reached my room, I found my two clever Maryland 
refugees there. Probably my manner and appearance still showed 
some signs of my agitation, as they both immediately became inter¬ 
ested in me. The Colonel, who was the jolly fellow of this trio, 
said, laughingly : 

“Hello, boy, what have you been up to?” 

Fortunately for me, they both attributed my apparant embarass- 
ment to a trifling matter, and did not pursue it further. Elkton, 
the older and more staid member of the refugee band, told me, with 
great glee and pleasure, that he had received an assurance from the 


230 


THE BOY SPY. 


Rebel War Department that his quota, or the detachment of ref¬ 
ugees that he had been gathering up, would be specially provided 
for as a part of a Maryland company of light artillery which was 
then organizing. He would be the First Lieutenant of this com¬ 
pany, and, as such, would, of course, see that his boys were well taken 
care of. It was further explained that his quota would be per¬ 
mitted to form a detachment of itself, or, at least, it would be so 
arranged that one section of this proposed battery would be in 
charge of his own men. This plan was not exactly what Elkton 
and the Colonel had calculated upon when they left their com¬ 
fortable Maryland homes to join the forces of the Rebels. Elkton 
probably expected to be at least a Colonel, and the Colonel himself 
evidently considered himself entitled to at least a Lieutenant-Col¬ 
onelcy in the Confederate armies. They might have attained to 
this position if they could have furnished sufficient recruits them¬ 
selves to have filled out a regiment. As it was, they were sadly 
and sorely disappointed in not finding the rush of refugees from 
Maryland which they had expected, and they were obliged to be 
satisfied with the best they could get, which was a lieutenantcy 
for Elkton, and a sergeantcy for the Colonel. In all these talks 
and plans, it had been calculated by both of these gentlemen that 
I should, as a matter of course, join the army—as one of their de¬ 
tachment. 

I never intended to do this. Under the peculiar circumstances 
under which I was placed, resulting in my sickness in the enemy’s 
camp, and in order to further my own purposes and objects, whict 
were solely to better collect information for the use of the Govern¬ 
ment, I had allowed them to think that I would at the proper time 
go with them. 

Everything is fair in love and war. 

This sort of artifice or scheme for deceiving a traitorous enemy 
in time of war, adopted on a large scale by the best generals, is 
termed by them “strategy”—but however disinterested the motives 
or inspiration of patriotism of a spy, who encounters for his coun¬ 
try even an infamous death, his work has been recognized as some¬ 
thing necessary, but “treacherous.” While lam not attempting 
the writing of an essay, yet I may be permitted to insert here that 
“The work or the purpose of a spy is not more ‘treacherous’ 


THE BOY SPY 


SSI 

than that of a general's ‘strategy.’ Both necessarily imply deceit. 
There is only a difference in rank or degree.” 

Very often the spy’s “treachery” enables the general to apply 
his “strategy,” and, perhaps, the poor spy has made the success of 
some of the greatest generals possible. 

My desire was to stave off as long as possible this plan. I hoped, 
before the necessity for it should occur, to get away from them and 
return home. 

So it came about that the time was approaching when I must 
either enlist or leave, and as I had that day so narrowly escaped an 
encounter, or detection in the barber shop, I decided very quickly 
in my own mind that I should leave. 

As previously indicated, I had studied as far as possible from all 
the maps that I could get access to; and learned pretty well the 
topography of the James River country. My Maryland friends 
who had come over had fully explained their trip by the Potomac 
River crossing, and I gathered at once that their route was very 
like what fisherman call a set-net—it was a very easy matter to get 
into the net, but it was difficult to find the way out again. In fact, 
it was only the favored few who were in the service of the Confed¬ 
erate Government that were permitted to escape backward. I 
knew very well that I could offer no satisfactory reasons for going 
in that direction, and that, if discovered in attempting to do so, it 
could not help but lead disastrously to me. 

I kept pretty close to my room, being taken conveniently “sick” 
for a day or two. 

The leaves on the large trees in the park were beginning to take 
on their beautiful autumnal colors. The air itself seemed to be 
clearer and more bracing, and I again began to feel well enough— 
was ready to undertake almost anything in the way of adventure. 

One evening, when the Colonel and I were alone, he told me 
that Elkton,who had been almost a daily visitor at the War Office— 
looking after his commission—had learned on direct authority that: 

“The army Under Generals Johnston and Beauregard will very 
soon advance, and we must get in at once, because,” he added in 
great glee and with significant emphasis, as he tapped me familiarly 
on the shoulder as he uttered each word : “The plan is to march 
into Maryland, and capture Washington and relieve Baltimore. ” 


This was the most interesting bit of news that I had heard for 
some weeks, and its dramatic recital set my nerves all up to a high 
tension. Eager to learn more,, I questioned the voluble and con¬ 
fiding Colonel, who was eager enough to talk. 

“ Oh, I know it’s true; and, my boy, I tell you truly that, before 
very long, we will march right into that portion of Maryland from 
which you came. ” 

I was further encouraged to enlist with them, when the Colonel 
said : “ Why, my dear boy, we will all soon march home to ‘ Mary¬ 

land, my Maryland/ and be received by our friends in our gray uni¬ 
forms. ” 

This last part of the programme rather stumped me. I was not 
particularly desirous that any of my friends should “ receive me 
in gray uniform. ” 

I shared his enthusiasm in one respect, however—that it would 
be glorious to be doing something once more—and I even hoped 
they would move into Maryland, as that would serve to stir up 
McClellan and the' North. I saw in this proposed advance into 
Maryland a good chance toagain safely go through Beauregard’s army, 
which I was willing to risk in this shape if, by so doing, I could 
learn of any proposed movement of the Rebels on to Washington, 
knowing very well that once in that country, in a Rebel uniform, I 
could safely “ advance” into Maryland some hours, and perhaps days, 
before the Rebel Army, so that our friends could be prepared to 
suitably give their distinguished military visitors a warm reception, 
and entertain them in the proper form after they should arrive. 

The Colonel went out to the bar to take a drink. 

I sat down and built up another cipher letter, in the same key 
as 1 used in the former. It was about the same form as the pre¬ 
ceding, being carefully worded, so as not to excite any suspicion. 
The real information which it conveyed to my Northern correspond¬ 
ent was to this effect, briefly, as each fifth word read: 

“Proposed advance north via upper Potomac.” 

It was short and to the point, because I had not time—at least 
I thought I should not have—to “cipher out ” a longer dispatch, as 
I wanted to get this through quickly. With this in my hands, I 
joined the Colonel down stairs, and together we walked along to 
Colonel J. B. Jones’ office, and on the other side of the square, 


THE BOY SPY. 


.38 

The evening previous, while venturing out, I had first been 
careful to ascertain, by a cautious inspection of the people about 
the hotel, before I should approach any of the groups of men always 
loafing about the hotel, that mv superintendent from Manassas was 
not among them. 

I cautiously inspected the register, and, at a favorable oppor¬ 
tunity, remarked to the gentlemanly clerk, as if I were surprised 
and delighted at the discovery: 

“ Why! is Mr. Superintendent here?” 

The Richmond hotel clerks are like the same fellows every place 
else, and he did not deign a response to my inquiry as he was talk¬ 
ing to another party. I looked, perhaps, rather inquisitively at 
him, finally attracting his attention, as he turned to a colored boy 
and said, apologetically: 

“Show this gentleman up to 62.” 

“ Oh, no! never mind ; I’ll not disturb him to-night; I’ll see him 
again.” 

I didn’t ask any further questions. 

The next morning I was greatly relieved to learn from a colored 
porter that the Superintendent “ Had gone off on de early cahs.” 

It was late in the evening when the Colonel and I called on Colo¬ 
nel Jones with my letter. I remember this, from the fact that the 
genial Colonel was preparing to close his office for the night, but he 
kindly took charge of my open letter, and, without a word of ques¬ 
tion, placed it in a pigeon-hole, in which were quite a number of 
other sealed letters. I asked, with an assumed expression of deep 
interest and anxiety in my manner, if the Colonel had any letters 
for me. 

“ Nothing at all undelivered,” he said, as he politely expressed 
his regret at having to disappoint me. I felt so sorry, too, and with 
a sigh of relief and an uttered hope for better luck next time, bade 
the Colonel a good-night. 

This information of the threatened invasion of Maryland, and 
the capture of Washington and Baltimore, had apparently put new 
and fresh blood into my veins. I felt that 1 must find out all 
about it, because I was in Richmond for that purpose, and if I 
failed or permitted so important an event to be planned and put 
into operation right under my own eyes, it would prove pretty con- 


THE EOT SPY. 


clusively that as a Spy, or scout, I was not reliable, and, after endur¬ 
ing so much hardship, I could not afford to fail in this important 
matter. 

So I told the Colonel that I was most anxious to go with him and 
Elkton to Maryland as a Rebel soldier. 

While they were arranging the details with the War Office, and 
some of the other Maryland refugees with whom we were to be con¬ 
solidated, I put in my time scouring every avenue of information 
that I could think of, for some confirmation of the reported plan to 
advance. I was more deeply interested in this than I can explain ; 
because, aside from my personal feelings and sympathies, I had, as 
will be remembered, a month or two previously advised our Gov¬ 
ernment that an advance was impossible, on account of so much 
sickness and general laxity of discipline, etc. 

But that information was based upon a condition of things which 
existed shortly after the battle of Bull Run. 

It was now about the first part of October, I think, and during 
the time that had elapsed the condition of affairs at Manassas had 
changed very much, of course. The Rebel Army had been sick— 
like myself—but had now sufficiently recovered to carry the cam¬ 
paign further, and be in good shape for an offensive movement. 

The Confederate authorities at Richmond were fully posted on all 
that was being done at Washington. 

I am not sure but that there was a daily mail from the North. 
I wanted very much indeed to learn something about the manner of 
this system of communication, but I was always afraid to meddle too 
much about it while I was in Richmond, lest I should get picked 
up by some of the knowing ones among the Rebel spies and sym¬ 
pathizers, who were even in the employ of our own Government. 

It was intimated in my hearing, while in Richmond, that the 
wife of President Lincoln was at heart in sympathy with the South ; 
and that her brother, a Mr. Todd, who was in the Confederate ser¬ 
vice, was in communication with her. No person of good judgment 
every believed in this story. I only mention it because some of the 
Rebel officers talked of the matter in a self-satisfied way. 

One of my regular morning walks in Richmond was to go to the 
newspaper office, in Main street, to read their daily, which was posted 
on a file outside of their office. There was usually quite a crowd 


THE BOY SPY. 


235 


about the office early in the day, because paper was becoming quite 
scarce in Rebeldom and a daily paper was too expensive a luxury 
for every one to enjoy, especially in my circumstances. I found, 
too, while standing about in the crowds, that I could overhear a 
great deal of comment on the news—that was more satisfactory to 
me as a spy than the news the paper contained. 

The Richmond press regularly quoted the principal New York 
papers of only a day or so preceding. Of course, all the unfavora¬ 
ble criticism of the Union military officers, and especially the oppo¬ 
sition to the administration of Lincoln on the part of Northern 
Copperheads. 

If some of these old Coppers could have been in Richmond 
while under the Confederate free government, and have experienced 
something of the “gratitude” extended to them in their words of 
comment, it would have been a benefit to the country, in this way 
--that it would have dried up a great deal of Northern sympathy. 

It seemed to me to be the general sentiment among Southern 
people of the more intelligent class, in response to this exhibition 
o f Copperhead sympathy, was oftenest expressed in words similar to 
this : 

“Why don’t they come over and help us now?” “What are 
they talking about so much; why don't they come on?” 

If I heard that sentiment expressed once, I’ve heard it perhaps 
1] undreds of times, in different forms; but it seemed to me, even 
then, that there existed a general contempt on the part of the bet¬ 
ter people South for those in the North who sent their sympathy 
and encouragement through the newspaper exchanges. 

On Main street, nearly opposite the newspaper office, was the gen¬ 
eral telegraph office, through which all communications by tele¬ 
graph was had to all parts of the Southern Confederacy. 

Inside, the office was arranged pretty much in the same general 
way as a bank : There was a high counter dividing the room 
lengthwise; that is, from the front about two-thirds of the way 
back, where it turned in an L-shape across the room. The front 
door opened into this office. Around the walls were placed the usual 
£onveniences for writing messages, which were to be handed in at 
the little windows through the glass counter. I called frequently 
at the office for a message, which I pretended to be expecting. 


236 


THE BOY SPY. 


It never came. 

But I was not discouraged, and kept up the visit until the 
delivery clerk got to know me so well that he would answer my ques¬ 
tion before I put it. I thought it would be well enough to try 
something through this channel, and every time I went inside the 
office, I lounged listlessly about long enough to hear the sound of 
the instruments, and I never failed to hear something from the 
sound of the brass-tongue tickers, but that something always hap¬ 
pened to be of no consequence. It would usually be some private 
message, or perhaps a long order from the army headquarters office 
about some commissary stores. 

I remember that I was impressed at the time, from the amount 
of telegraphing going on on that subject, that there was certainly 
a war between the Commissary Departments at Richmond and the 
officers in the front. 

I did not dare tarry too long at a time, for fear that my constant 
attendance at the office might excite some suspicion. 

It was only while I was on the alert to get something tangible 
about the proposed movement of the army that I was willing to 
take some extra risks to obtain official information. 

It was evident, from the increased activity about the offices of 
the War Department, that something was up. Since I had heard 
of this proposed advance, I was giving the Departments considerable 
attention, and rarely missed an opportunity to see as far as I could 
from the outside what was going on inside. 

From my bench, under the trees in the park, I could see that the 
office was being besieged almost constantly by crowds of people, 
mostly members of their Congress, who had to pass my seat on their 
way from the Capitol building to the War Department. 

They went in groups of two to four at a time; sometimes a 
Congressman would be accompanied by an officer in the gray 
uniform. 

As they passed me, their conversation seemed to be animated — 
in short, there was a general feeling among the crowd, as far as I 
could gather anything, that something important was pending. 

Yet I had no facts—simply surmises,and gossip. 

I could not learn much at the telegraph office, and had about 
abandoned the attempt in that direction, until I struck a plan that 



THE BOY SPY. 


237 


was a little risky, but, under the circumstances, I felt justifiable in 
undertaking almost anything. 

Noticing a messenger leaving the War Department, I followed 
him at a respectful distance. He went straight to the telegraph 
office; so did I. I entered the door just a moment after him, and 
was carelessly edging toward the delivery clerk, to put my stereo¬ 
typed interrogation to him, when he said in my hearing to the mes¬ 
senger : 

“ Shall we send dispatches from the President to Mrs. Davis at 
her home to-night ? ” 

“There wont be any; he is expected back to night.” 

Jeff Davis was at Manassas then. I felt really as if I had been 
derelect in my duty, in thus permitting the President to go out of 
town without my knowledge and consent. But he was coming 
back; that was comforting to me. I felt sure now that the rumors 
of an advance had been confirmed. I knew something was in con¬ 
templation, and I should not leave Bichmond at that time—certainly 
not until I had ascertained what it was that they proposed doing, 
and when it was to be done. 

I went straight to my room, wrote a short despatch—a rather 
crude one—the translation of which w r as that: 

“ Jeff Davis had been to Manassas ; something up.” And before 
> slept it was in Colonel J. B. Jones’ postoffice. 


* CHAPTEE XVIII. 


RICHMOND ON AN AUTUMN MORNING—A GROUP OF GOOD LOOK¬ 
ING SOLDIERS—JEFF DAVIS PASSED BY—THE BATTLE OF 

BALL’S BLUFF—RICHMOND NEWSPAPERS. 

While I felt that my “ dispatch” would ultimately go through to 
its destination at Washington all right, I was yet quite uneasy 
about this talked-of advance of the Kebels into Maryland, fearful 
that it might take place at once, or before my information could 
reach the North, through the blockade mail service, which was nec¬ 
essarily a little bit slow and uncertain. This fear kept me awake 
long after I had gotten into bed; and as I lay there alone in my 
room, in a Kichmond hotel, brooding over the dangers of a Eebel 
invasion into Maryland and the humiliation that would atteach to 
the capture or flight of President Lincoln and his officers from 
Washington, I became, I expect, somewhat wild and frenzied, and 
again resolved to myself, while in this disordered and disturbed 
frame of mind, that I would “ stand by Jeff Davis”—for awhile— 
that for one, he should not go to Washington. 

I had been away from home now since July, during which time 
I had heard only of the Union Army through the Eebel sources, and, 
of course, everything favorable had been suppressed, while all the 
weaknesses or shortcomings of our Northern forces had been greatly 
exaggerated. 

I had heard so much of this sort of talk during these three 
months that I had, perhaps, come to believe in a great deal of it. I 
was young but not inexperienced. 

We soon learned how to interpret the numerous war rumors and 
gossip of the soldiers of both sides—a little later on. Every recruit, 
perhaps, has suffered—in anticipation—more from the “chin” of 
old veterans about a camp-fire, who always knew more of the pro¬ 
posed movements of the generals than they did themselves. 

So it was that I was compelled to listen to the wild talk of the 
enthusiastic refugees, my Colonel and Elkton, after they came into 
the room that night. It was late—they had been having some fun, 


TUE BOY SPY, 


239 


and were feeling greatly exhilarated over the street rumors of the 
coming light. I do not mean to insinuate that they were tipsy, 
just because the Colonel got to in bed without taking his clothes 
off, for he was able to talk plainly and volubly until he fell asleep 
from exhaustion. 

The talk of those two fellows that night, about the dreadful 
things that were going to happen soon, had about set me wild, and 
I felt as if I should get out of bed and walk right straight up to 
Washington before daylight and tell ITncle Abe all about it. But I 
fell asleep, too, and dreamed, perhaps, as wildly as I had been 
planning. 

There was one point settled in my mind, and that was that it 
was my best plan to remain in Richmond, at least, until something 
sure was discovered about the Rebel plans. Another was, that if I 
kept up my friendship with these two lively old boys, who thought 
they were taking care of me, that I should more easily get fuller and 
more satisfactory information. I was obliged, in order to prolong 
my stay, to go with them into their Maryland artillery. I could 
also more safely reach our army through the cover or disguise of a 
gray uniform. As they were to go to the front at once, I was will¬ 
ing to do anything that was necessary for the good of the-Govern¬ 
ment, but F wanted very much to avoid as long as was possible the 
approaching necessity for joining the Rebel Army as a means to 
further my ends and objects. 

I had already staved it olf a long time. I could have returned 
to the North via the James river without trouble, and I had all my 
arrangements completed to do so, when the reported advance of 
Beauregard reached my ears, and I had delayed purposely to learn 
something about this. 

While there had been no active operations, I had worked hard 
and faithfully in secret. 

I had opened and kept up communication with our Government 
_through the rebel channels—that was one great success. 

I was also on hand in their territory, and on the alert to discover 
and report any further information. 

I had probably at last discovered something important was pend¬ 
ing, and I decided to stay and see it out. 

The next morning I was out of my bed early, and in the park 


THE BOY SPY 


240 

before my two comrades were out of their beds. I wanted to see if 
Jeff Davis had returned to Richmond, and, after breakfast, I took 
my accustomed walk, from which I could obtain a view of his office 
door. 

I can recall that beautiful Autumn day on the Capitol Grounds 
as distinctly as if was but a day or two ago. The trees were putting 
on their most beautiful shades of color, the air was fresh and brac¬ 
ing, and I, having fully recovered from my recent weakness, was 
again so well and bright that I almost felt in my youthful, impul¬ 
sive way, that it would be an easy task to go right up to Manassas 
that day to see what Mr. Davis was doing, and, if his movements 
were not satisfactory, I could continue my walk on to Washington. 

There were at all hours of the day a great many people in the 
park. They were of all kinds, from the provisional Congressman 
and Virginia State Assemblyman, Confederate Government, down to 
refugees, citizens, soldiers and spies. 

As I have previously said, there was always to be seen in this 
beautiful square any number of people, and on this October morn¬ 
ing it seemed as if every person who wanted to go any place in the 
. city were making it convenient to walk through the square to their 
destination. 

There was eternally some Confederate soldiers and officers loaf¬ 
ing about on the benches. I had become so accustomed to the boys 
in gray, in the streets, that I had forgotten to be at all afraid to 
meet with and to talk to them. This morning in particular I was 
perhaps unduly reckless, because I was so eager to obtain some 
further information about this advance. 

Seeing a group of three nice looking soldiers talking together, a 
little distance from where I stood, I determined on the spur of the 
moment to join them, and, if an opportunity was afforded me, I 
would try to learn from them what they knew of the Rebel plans. 

A group of three soldiers on a lark is not exactly the source 
that I would have applied to for information of an army’s pro¬ 
posed movements six months later, but, as I have said, I was young 
then and fresh in the war service. 

I approached, and addressed the boys a mild and meek inquiry, 
as to a good place to enlist in -our army.” This was a question 
that interested them all, and every fellow was at once eager to give 


THE BOY SPY. 


U1 


me the desired information, which was to the effect that they had 
the very best Captain in the army. 

They belonged to Louisiana, they said, and were recruits from 
New Orleans, and were on their way then to join the army at Man¬ 
assas, having arrived in Richmond the day previously, and were lay¬ 
ing over until the officer in charge secured some necessary trans¬ 
portation or other authority at the War Office. 

I was urged to go with them. They declared that there was to 
be some great fun soon—that their officer knew all about it and had 
told them of the plan for the campaign. 

The story they had did not differ materially from that I had 
heard from our own boys, and I judged safely enough that, as they 
were but recently from New Orleans, they could not know much 
more about the army at Manassas than I did. While we talked 
together these few moments, we all stood in a close group on one of 
the broad walks, the conversation being carried on with such a 
degree of earnestness on their part that we scarcely noticed the per¬ 
sons who were constantly passing us, until one of the Virginia 
police-soldiers came up to us with his gun and politely ordered the 
crowd not to block up the way. We moved off a little and sat 
down to finish the contract they had undertaken—of inducing me 
to join them. 

The police-soldier walked off a little piece, and then, taking a 
position where two paths joined, he stood like one of the statues 
for a moment; then, as if suddenly imbued with life, his arms flew 
about as he brought his gun to a “ present.” Passing him were two 
gentlemen—one quite portly and red-faced, the other a slender thin¬ 
faced gentleman in a dark suit of steel gray. As they came closer, 
we all watched to see who they might be, as the guard had saluted. 
The big-faced gentleman was doing all the talking—the thin-faced 
one was close to me before I recognized him. He was so intent on 
hearing the old man’s talk that he did not look toward us at all; 
and, after they had passed, I said to the soldiers: “That’s Presi¬ 
dent Davis! ” They were, of course, all anxious to get another 
glimpse of their great man, and one of them hastily followed after 
while one of the others said in his slow, deliberate way: 

“ I thought so; because he looked just like a Confederate post¬ 
age stamp.” 


THE BOY SPY 


At that time Mr. Davis* picture was on the stamps recently 
issued. 

1 took this opportunity to get away from them, by saying that I 
must join one of our own Maryland regiments, and started off as if 
I must find one right away. 

Jeff Davis was back in Richmond, as I had discovered with my 
own eyes. 

In my daily rounds, the next source of information I sought was 
the newspapers offices, because the crowd that was always to be 
found about them seemed to do more satisfactory blowing than any 
that I could strike elsewhere. They commented pro and con upon 
the bulletins that were sometimes put out; or, in fact, it seemed as 
if this daily gathering at the Examiner office, a few doors around 
the corner from Main, was a sort of a news clearing-house, where a 
great many of the citizens of the better class came to tell all they 
knew and to hear all that any others had to tell. 

It was through this channel that I obtained some important clues. 

While I was in Richmond, the Balls Bluff, or Leesburg, disaster 
occurred, and most eager$ly did I read all that appeared in Rich¬ 
mond about that distressing affair. 

The Examiner and Whig articles on this “ great victory,** if 
reproduced to-day, would make some interesting reading, of a char¬ 
acter that would stir up the blood of the old soldiers, even now, about 
as quickly as anything I know of. 

The prevailing sentiment or feeling in Richmond at the time 
seemed to be, that this “great achievement of the Confederates** 
merely confirmed the opinions that had been previously uttered, 
based on the battle of Bull Run, “that one Southern was equal to 
five Yankees.** 

The patronizing and superior manner with which those Rich¬ 
mond people talked of the battle of Balks Bluff, which, in fact, was 
almost a massacre, made such an impression on my mind that time 
has not and never can efface. 

The Richmond papers, too, in those days, I recall very distinctly, 
found it necessary to apoligize for, or defend, General Stone, for 
his part in the affair. 

It was through this press channel that we heard of General 
Butler*s operations in North Carolina, The old man had evidently 


THE BOY SPY. 


21# 

done something down there that hurt very much, which they did 
not print, as the city press was filled almost every day with abuse of 
him and the Yankees. 

I gathered that it was about Henry A. Wise, who had a son or a 
brother killed by Butler's operations. One would think, from the 
manner in which the Virginians went on about this “outrage,” that 
the Yankees had no right to kill a Virginia gentleman under any 
circumstances. 

While I am on the subject of the Richmond press, I must not for¬ 
get to explain that, as printing paper was becoming quite scarce in 
the South, they were obliged to economize, and frequently the Rich¬ 
mond Examiner and Whig appeared in half-sheets and letters; the 
quality of the paper became so inferior as to resemble in appearance 
the reverse side of the cheapest wall-paper. 

I sent to the North, through the blockade, several times, marked 
copies of the Richmond papers. 

The Pittsburgh Chronicle actually published, while I was yet in 
Virginia, an extract from one of those papers, in which were some 
caustic comments on a case of a certain well-known Presbyterian 
clergyman of Allegheny, who had been dismissed by his church 
there for some harsh expressions of sympathy for the South. 

I was thanked by name for the “ courtesy '' in sending the paper, 
which was exhibited at the office as a great curiosity, and am thank¬ 
ful even now, on reflection, that the Pittsburgh papers were not on 
the Richmond exchange list. 

There were no earthworks of any description around Richmond 
in 1861. This is a fact that is not generally known. 

When I was before the Committee on the Conduct of the War, 
some months after the date of which I am writing, there was an 
effort being made by some of the Congressmen to prove to the coun¬ 
try that McClellan's inactivity during the fall and winter was wholly 
inexcusable. This truth was fully brought out at the time and 
the facts proven. 

There was probably not a day from August to November, 1861, 
that General McClellan could not have easily entered Richmond, 
with a very small force, from the Peninsula or via the South. 

It was also fully established by the official papers of the Rebe] 
authorities themselves that twenty-five per cent, of their army was 


THE BOY SPY. 


SU 

incapacitated on account of the prevailing epidemic in August and 
September, and that twenty-five per cent, more were absent, while 
the rest of the Rebel army was as badly demoralized bv their victory 
as we were by our rout. 

I do not attempt to criticise General McClellan in mentioning 
these facts. I refer simply to my own personal observations on this 
point, as testified to before the Committee of Congress, after I had 
gotten home again. I beg to refer the reader to volume 3, page 
380 of the printed Government Record for a part of my sworn testi¬ 
mony referring to these dates. 

After a long day’s hunt for news, visiting about every place in 
the city, like a reporter, where I thought I could learn anything— 
among the rest, Libby Prison guard—I returned to the hotel in the 
evening. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


A NARROW ESCAPE—RECOGNIZED BY TEXAS FRIENDS AT A RICH¬ 
MOND THEATRE—PERSONNEL OF THE MARYLAND BATTERY— 
REFUGEES FROM IRELAND—CAMP LEE, NEAR RICHMOND—OUR 
CAPTAIN—LIEUTENANT CLAIBORNE, OF MISSISSIPPI—OUR SEC- 
TIOND-RILLS—HORSES FOR OUR USE IN TOWN AND ADJOINING 
COUNTY—VISITS OF LADIES—CAPITOLA—POPULARITY OF REF¬ 
UGEES—THE ENTERTAINMENT FOR MARYLANDERS—TABLEAU— 
JEFF DAVIS STRIKES THE CHAINS FROM THE ENSLAVED MARY¬ 
LAND BEAUTY. 

Richmond hotels during the war were very like those in Wash¬ 
ington City during the same period. Every evening the offices, 
billiard rooms, and even the bar rooms, would be tilled with that 
class of a city’s population that usually congregate in these places. 
As the crowded hotel lobbies in Washington City nowadays are just 
the places the newspaper men seek to obtain news for their papers, 
so it was in Richmond as well as Washington during the war. 

Everybody agreed on one point—that something was up, but 
just what it was nobody seemed able to tell, and I was unable to find 
out. But I had a night’s adventure, which served to dispel any 
scruples I had entertained about the propriety of entering the Rebel 
Army. 

I met at the hotel office my companion, the Colonel, who, upon 
seeing me, rushed over the office floor to say: 

“Why, where the devil have you been? We have been hunting 
you every place. ” 

I explained that I had been poking about the city all day, and 
was so tired that I was going straight to bed. 

“Xo you ain’t; we are going to initiate you to-night. We 
got our orders to-day. Elkton has his commission, and has 
authority to enlist his men—you know we have nearly all we need 
for our section. I am to be Sergeant in charge of the piece and 
you are to be Corporal. ” 

'pLoiv. with a slap on the shoulder, he- hauled me to one side, 

€4 5 


and whispered: “We have got it all lixed for our big bounty, and 
we want your papers right away." 

1 was cornered. I must go along or get out of town. There 
could be no possible excuse for further putting off this step. 

I asked only the one question—“ AVhere do we go?" 

“Why, into Maryland, of course !" 

Being further assured that this battery was to be at once sent to 
the front, I agreed to go along with him —to yet the money . We 
found Elkton in our room, attending to the papers of some of the 
other recruits, and, at a favorable opportunity, I, with a trembling 
hand and a doubting heart, signed my assumed name to the papers, 
and by that act became a Rebel soldier . There was one great relief 
to my mind while performing this necessary act. It was distinctly 
understood that I was to be made the Corporal, and, as such, it would 
oe my duty to sight and fire the gun of our section. I determined 
that if the occasion should arise before I could get away from them, 
when it would become my duty as a Rebel soldier to sight that gun, 
that it should never be pointed in a way to do any damage . 

My object was to use this scheme as a disguise to again get to the 
front at Manassas, and find out what had been done there. I could 
not learn anything at Richmond, and once more in the Rebel Armv 
at Manassas, disguised in a gray uniform, I would find some way to 
anticipate any forward movements. I would also be “handy" to 
our army, and be able to reach our pickets quickly. 

If I were caught going over to the enemy, with a Rebel jacket 
on, Fd be shot as a deserter; but I had the consolation of knowing 
hat, if I were caught in any other clothes, I should be hung any- 
now. While this was not a very comforting thought, I knew it was 
true. 

I did not care much for the money that was to be paid to me ? 
and authorized Elkton to settle my bills at the hotel and to retain 
the balance for me. He furnished the Colonel and me some spend¬ 
ing money, and together we went out to “make a night of it" in 
Richmond. 

The Colonel and I went first to a theatre, located on the street 
on which stood the Exchange and Ballard Hotel. 

One of the players sang with dramatic effect some words suita¬ 
ble to the time and people, which was adapted to the French air of 



IN AN INSTANT PUT THB POINT OB' HIS SWOB.D AGAINST 


MY BREAST. 






























9 

■ 

* 

. 


. 


. 




. 

— 












■ 




































I -N 















































































- 






THE BOY SPY. 


247 

“La Marseillaise.” He waved in one hand a French flag and in the 
other the Confederate bars. At a certain point in the song, the fel 
low threw to the floor and stamped upon—old glory—the Stars and 
Stripes. The wild cheers of approval and howls of applause from 
the large audience that went up at this dastardly exhibition of Ameri¬ 
can treachery sent the cold chills down my marrow bone. I won¬ 
dered then, and have never ceased to wonder, at the frequent exhi¬ 
bitions of contempt and dishonor for their old flag that were so 
freely and heartily indulged in by the Southern people during the 
war. 

It did not occur to me at the time that I might accidentally 
meet or, at least, be seen—in a crowded theatre—by some person 
who would know something of my past experiences. 

As we were slowly edging through the crowd, after the curtain 
had fallen, I noticed a tall fellow in front of us, who turned 
around to look back. I thought I had seen his face before, but I 
had been seeing so many faces lately, that I paid but little attention 
to him. I observed that he said something to his companion, as 
both turned around facing me, but, as the crowd kept pressing down 
the narrow aisle, they did not have a good chance to scan me too 
closely. 

Becoming aware of their scrunity, my suspicions became aroused. 
I began to hasten along, and nervously nudged the Colonel to push 
ahead more rapidly. We passed the two men—one of whom was in 
uniform—and as we did so, I heard one of them say: 

‘'That’s him, ain’t it ?” 

I didn’t linger to hear what reply the other made, but shoved on 
toward the door, and had reached the vestibule when the voice 
behind called out— my right name! I was startled, but did not turn, 
being intent only on getting to the street as quickly as possible. 

The Colonel, who was with me, had not noticed the alfair at all; 
and the calling out of my real name had not attracted his attention, 
as I was known to him only by the fictitious name that I had 
assumed. 

As I reached the door, and was about to hurry down the front 
steps, a hand was laid on my shoulder I have no doubt that it was 
a pale face which turned around, expecting to meet some one that 
i certainly did not desire to see at that time. 


THE BOY SPY. 


I did not know him, though his pleasant face, which was covered 
with a broad grin, seemed familiar. 

“ Ain’t you Mr. 0. K., that was out in Texas with Major J— ?" 

I suppose that my surprised appearance was misunderstood for 
an expression of offended dignity I had assumed. This had the 
effect of putting him in doubt as to my identity, as he eyed me more 
closely, and gave me his name, and remarked he was one of a regi¬ 
ment that had been organized in that part of Texas in which I had 
spent the winter preceding the war, and had probably known me 
there, as a stranger naturally becomes an object of curiosity in that 
country. 

As I did not want to run the risk of meeting any of my Texas 
uncle's friends, who might know of my interest in the affair at 
Fort Pickens—as the Texas boy—I mildly resented the proposed 
acquaintance. His companion relieved the embarrassment by sug¬ 
gesting, politely, that it was simply a mistake. When I had recovered 
sufficiently, I gave my fictitious name and introduced the Colonel, as 
a sort of endorser for my statement. 

It was accepted with hesitancy, and we parted without stopping 
to further explain the matter. 

I was now, seemingly, to all intents and purposes, a bona fide 
“ rebel. " The position in which I had almost involuntarily placed 
myself was such, that it put me in a dangerous attitude toward both 
sides, and would necessitate considerable explaining in certain 
events. It was, in fact, a “ straddle," that caused me a good deal 
of annoyance and trouble that I had not counted on before I 
entered into the arrangement. 

After the little incident at the theatre, the Colonel and I went 
straight to our room at the hotel. He wanted to run around town 
a little longer, but I was not in the humor for taking any further 
risks of meeting any more of my Southern acquaintances, and I 
prevailed upon him to go with me to bed. After the lights were 
out, I had an opportunity to think over the day's doings before I 
slept. It was arranged between us that we should travel together 
as a pair, or as a team of fresh Maryland colts, wherever we should 
go. We were both to be attached to the one gun of the Third 
Maryland Battery of Artillery. That is the name of the organiza¬ 
tion, as will be found upon a reference to the records, and I have 



RECOGNIZED BF TEXANS AT RICHMOND THEATRE, 


















THE BOY SPY. 


2l>9 

no doubt my name is also set down there among the members of the 
company. Elkton was made the Lieutenant, while the “ Colonel ” 
was promoted to be Sergeant in charge of the piece, while I was 
Corporal and gunner. 

A majority of the other “ refugees” belonging to this patriotic 
band of exiles were composed principally of recruits who had been 
recently drawn to Richmond from their shovel and pick employ¬ 
ment on a railroad contract, on what is now the Chesapeake & 
Ohio Railroad. This sense of duty to the suffering and abused 
South of their adoption, was due to the fact, as we all understood 
it then, that the bounty and pay of the Maryland refugee was 
very much greater than that of a laborer in a ditch while the 
work was not nearly so fanning. In fact, and in brief, the re¬ 
fugee business was very much of a fraud on the Confederacy in our 
company. To be more explicit, I will enumerate, from memory, 
the several nationalities which were attached to our “ piece ,” which 
may be considered a representative of the Maryland refugees in the 
Confederacy. 

Our No. 1 and No. 2 —which all old soldiers will remember, are the 
figures that represent the two men who stand at the muzzle of an old- 
fashioned gun, one of whom swabs her out, while the other rams the 
charge home—were two stalwart Irish brothers, Mike and Terry by 
name. The former had been a boss of a wheelbarrow gang somewhere 
out on the railway in Virginia—one of those blustering Irish fellows 
who are so full of extravagant and positive talk. He was eternally 
and forever complaining about something or somebody, and I 
remember that he gave the officers and men more trouble on this 
account than all the rest. He had, as the leader of his gang, brought 
a dozen of his Irish recruits into our organization at one draft, and 
felt as if he must continue to be their -boss. His men were also 
disposed to recognize “ Mike^s " authority, as being superior to that 
of the military officers. A good deal of discipline was necessary to 
explain to them the changed condition in their affairs. His brother 
Terry was a strapping big fellow, whose position at the gun was 
alongside of his brother. In disposition and temperament, Terry 
was the very opposite of Mike, being a quiet, sullen fellow, whom I 
do not remember to have heard speak a dozen words beyond mere 
monosyllables. He was, however, a tricky, treacherous fellow, and 


250 


THE BOY SBi\ 


the pair of big gray mules gave the team of Maryland colts any 
amount of trouble and fun. 

The man whose duty it was to prick the cartridge and attend 
the vent was a native of Richmond—a fat, boyish fellow of eighteen 
full of fun and laugh all the time. My recollection is, that he had 
been a butcher’s clerk somewhere. He represented what may be 
called the/‘poor white trash,” as it was termed by the Southern 
people. 

He was probably attracted by the bounty and the chance to ride 
on a gun-carriage, as we found out very soon he was too blamed 
lazy to walk. Another peculiarity of this recruit, that we subse¬ 
quently discovered, and which made it interesting to the rest of 
us, was, that he was subject to epileptic fits, and probably for this 
cause he had been rejected by the more respectable Virginia regi¬ 
ments. 

When he first took one of those spells, during the excitement 
occasioned by the drill-master hustling him around a little, we all 
felt that something dreadful had occurred in our midst, and every 
man in the camp was crawling over the other in their efforts to wait 
upon and assist the poor fellow. He lay on the ground, gnawing 
and twisting himself in the most horrible way, frothing at the 
mouth in the meanwhile in a frightful manner. 

It was on such occasions as this that big Mike showed his use¬ 
fulness in the company. He would grab the big Virginian lubber 
by each hand and hold him steady,” as if he was a mere baby in 
his hands, giving orders meanwhile, as if he was a captain on a 
man-of-war in a great storm. 

The other fellow, who pulled the lanyard, was a slender, good- 
looking man, who had been a sailor who had traveled around the 
world, and did not seem to have any nationality. The war had 
found him blockaded at Norfolk, and, being unable to get out to 
sea, he had gravitated into Richmond, where he was induced to 
join the refugee band by the hard logic of an empty pocket, a hun¬ 
gry belly, and a show of money as bounty. He and I became fast 
friends, and, as a singular coincidence, I mention here that we both 
joined that battery with the same intent— i. e., to use it as a means 
of escape North ; and though we were together and slept together 
every night for months, neither knew the other’s thoughts on the 


THE BOY SPY . 


S5J 


subject until the morning Ave met, accidentally, wliile both were 
escaping through the Rebel pickets. 

Our No. 5, whose duty it Avas to carry the cartridge from the 
caisson to the gun, Avas a queer character. He Avas a man of 
about forty-five years of age, tall and angular, Avith that odd cast of 
countenance that one often sees amongthe loAver order of Germans. 
He was not exactly a German, but had an accent similar to the Ger¬ 
man ; his face Avas broad and square, the lower part of it being appar¬ 
ently broader than the upper. I think he must have been a Rus¬ 
sian or a Polander. He Avas not a successful No. 5, because his 
motions Avere too stiff and lumbering for that position; and, in con¬ 
sequence of his stupidity, he Avas being prodded all the time 
when on drill. He became, hoAve\ T er, a very useful member to the 
company. 

By some mysterious expressions from the officers, Ave Avere led to 
believe at first that he might have been a disguised “ juke " or count, 
exiled from his native land, and Avho desired to serve his adopted 
home with this band of devoted refugees. We learned, however, 
that he had simply been a professor in his OAvn country in—a barber¬ 
shop. We Avere all glad enough to ascertain this fact; also, that he 
served his time as a tailor—to be sure his “time” as a tailor had 
been “ put in ” at a certain penitentiary—but he Avasa good and use¬ 
ful refugee all the same, because he Avas detailed to shave the com¬ 
pany and, also, to do over the baggy gray uniforms Avhich Avere fur¬ 
nished us. 

The “ Colonel ” and I Avere the first to take advantage of this 
information, as to the “juke’s” accomplishments, to have him refit 
the gray blouses and trousers Avhich Ave Avere to wear. We procured 
some black stuff for trimming the cnffs of our coats, because one of 
the Lanyards’ lady friends had told him that the black and gray 
matched nicely together. We also had our Sergeant’s and Corpo¬ 
ral’s stripes of bright red stitched on to our sleeves, and a narroAV 
binding of red Avas seAved down in front of the coat. It Avas in this 
rather neatly-trimmed Rebel uniform that I boldly Avalked the streets 
of Richmond, and secured entrance to houses and places of interest, 
from Avhich I had heretofore been excluded, during the rest of my 
eventful stay in that city. 

It will be seen that, in this account of the personnel of one see- 


25$ 


TEE BOY SPY. 


tion of the so-called Maryland Battery, there was hut the one genu, 
ine Maryland refugee in its outfit, outside of Elkton, and that was 
the Sergeant, who is the “ Colonel” of our story. I was, of course, 
supposed to be another Marylander, but it will be seen that the 
much-vaunted “flower of the South,” which composed the Confed¬ 
erate armies, was very much like the “flower of the North” in its 
actual composition. 

The other sections of our battery were composed principally of 
the aforesaid “recruits” from the railway laborers, who were 
mostly refugees from Ireland and Germany. 

Our other lieutenant was a Mr. Claiborne, one of the genuine 
sons of the South, a native of Mississippi, and as clever and court¬ 
eous a young gentleman as it has ever been my pleasure to meet. 
I recall my acquaintance with Lieutenant Claiborne, though formed 
in this surreptitious way, as one of the most agreeable in which I have 
ever shared. If it shall so happen that this writing may meet his 
own eye, or that of his family or friends—and I have given the 
correct name—he will understand some of my actions toward him, 
which were at the time, to say it briefly, inexplicable. Lieut¬ 
enant Claiborne, I think, followed the Confederate fortunes to the 
end—I am sure he did so if he lived to see the end—for, without a 
doubt, he was earnestly, though quietly, sincere in his devotion to the 
cause of the South. 

The Captain of the company had been, as I understood it, a 
lawyer from Baltimore, He was a small man in stature, small in 
mind, and about as little and trifling in every way as any soldier 
that I have ever met. 

Perhaps some allowance should be made for the Captain on 
account of the fact that he was a cripple. lie was born, I believe, 
with one leg shorter than the other—wore what is known as a club 
foot; that is, one shoe was filled with a cork sole, which raised his 
foot three or four inches from the ground. He walked with a 
cane, and sometimes used two, and apparently walked with diffi¬ 
culty. His face wore an expression of pain or sourness that is 
peculiar to many persons whom I have met that are similarly 
afflicted. 

In justice to the Captain, it may be inferred that, on account of 
his bodily infirmity, he had been reared in such a way that every 


THE BOY SPY. 


253 


whim was gratified, and lie was petted and spoiled until he became 
in nature and disposition a veritable tyrant, as all pets are. We 
understood that lie came of a first-class Maryland family, and that 
he bad been highly educated at his home, where he had become a 
successful attorney. Our impressions in this regard were amply 
confirmed by our association; and the fact that our Captain had 
great influence at the Rebel War Department was undisputed. 
The Captain himself recognized his importance, and was of the 
temperament that inclined to make the most of his advantages. 

There was a disposition on the part of our first Lieutenant, Elkton, 
to resist the Captain’s severe exercise of his authority and over¬ 
bearing manner; and in this rebellion within a rebellion, we of this 
section unanimously sustained our Lieutenant. Mr. Claiborne, the 
second Lieutenant, was also in constant friction with the Captain, 
and, as his squad sustained him, also, we were in hot water right 
along. 

The Captain became a cross, surly, revengeful man. He knew 
nothing whatever of military drill and the requirements, and was 
narrow-minded enough to meddle and interfere with the trifling 
details, which should have been left to the subordinate officers. 

Big Mike, of our section, was one of the fellows who had a griev¬ 
ance, because he had not been made sergeant in charge of the gun, 
with his own squad of Irish to work it, instead of my Colonel. He 
took every complaint to this sour-faced, crippled Captain, who, in 
an unmilitary manner, entertained his private growling complaint 
against the officers and the rest of the company. He would invite 
Mike into his quarters, where he would discuss with him the minor 
affairs of the company. Any old soldier will see how this sort of 
thing would work; and if any imagine for a moment that all the 
Southern soldiers were a “band of brothers,”harmoniously bound 
together, fighting only against the Yankee invaders, they are very 
much mistaken. 

I have seen more of the ugly, bitter jealousy between Rebel 
officers, and severe criticism of Jeff Davis and his generals, in an 
association of nine months among them, than I did subsequently 
in three years between Stanton and Halleck and all the com* 
manders of the armies of the Potomac. 

Our company was quartered in the Fair Grounds, on the out* 




THE BOY SPY. 


S5Jf 

skirts of Richmond, which in lifter years became widely known as 
“ Camp Lee.” A high board fence enclosed several acres of ground ; 
inside this enclosure w r ere a number of temporary wooden sheds, 
which had been turned into barracks for the Confederate soldiers. 

Troops were arriving at this camp from the South every day; 
and as fast as they were organized or suitably provided with arms 
and clothing, they were shipped on the cars, which ran right by the 
grounds, to the Rebel Army at Manassas or thereabouts. I was al¬ 
ways glad to see the trains stop to load up some of the troops for 
the North, because I felt, every time I saw it, that our turn to go 
would soon come, and I should soon be at the front again, from 
whence I could easily skip over the line into Washington City. 

The time, during these days, was usually occupied in a daily 
routine of military life. Officers and men occupied comfortable 
quarters at Camp Lee, in the barracks. There was a roll-call every 
morning, a very good breakfast, then a couple of hours* drill at the 
one old iron cannon, which was all that the entire camp possessed. 
Each of the sections took turns at this one piece. So it was, that, 
between us all, we managed to keep it hot pretty near all day. 
This drill was a regular circus. As the gunner, I did not 
have very much exercise. Lanyard, who stood by me, and I, 
had so much fun together over the two big Irishmen, who would 
so violently ram home the imaginary charges of powder and ball 
and swing the big swab around as wildly as if it was a little shil- 
leleh. Fatty, the Virginia refugee, whose place was across from 
us, was full of fun himself, and kept us all amused by his antics 
during the drill—holding his fingers to his ears and winking and 
jumping as if a charge had actually been fired and the rebound 
was dangerous. The two big Irish brothers were always in a sweat 
and swearing at the disguised “juke”, because he was so dignified in 
his bearing that he could not be made to see the necessity of 
rushing frantically from the limber, holding an imaginary cart¬ 
ridge in his hand. It, perhaps, seemed too absurd for a man of his 
dignity, age and clumsy bearing to be compelled to run around 
the gun holding out his empty hands, as if carrying a ten-pound 
shot in them, which he was supposed to deliver in like ima¬ 
ginary manner. 

My duty was to sight the piece, and I learned to get that part of 


!TiiE BOY SPY. 


the drill down so fine that 1 was able, on short notice, to hit 
same knot-hole in the fence, twenty 7- feet distant, every time. 

The number of Yankees that we killed with that gun—in imago 
nation—far outnumbered all that were afterward slaughtered by all 
of General Alexander’s Rebel Artillery. The Captain somehow got 
a notion that I was the only person in the company who could use 
pen and ink. This was not very complimentary to the rest of the 
company, because I've not, in all these years, learned how to write 
properly; but I was, in consequence, detailed as a company clerk, or a. 6 * 
a private secretary to the Captain, and from this assignment, until 
we took the field , I had what is vulguarly called—a snap. 

I was quartered thenceforth in the Captain's room, except when 
off duty, when I would quickly join the Colonel and Lanyard in 
their barracks. My duties were not at all onerous; on the other 
hand, I became relieved from all details for drill guard, police duty, 
and a hundred and one other little “ turns" that catch everybody in 
the ranks, both in the Rebel and Union armies, it was my business 
to do all the company’s clerical work: I filled out requisitions for 
commissary supplies, kept the roster, made a daily report for the 
Captain to somebody who was the General in command at the camp 
at that time. 

One day the Captain notified the men, as we were at evening 
roll-call, that he had engaged a doctor for the exclusive benefit 
of the company, who would accompany as as our surgeon. Every¬ 
body was glad to hear this, as we had experienced a good bit of 
sickness already while in camp. The Captain wound up am 
speech with the incidental observation that a dollar or two would 
be retained from each man’s pay to compensate this private surgeon 
There was surprise, and the parade was dismissed and the men reas¬ 
sembled to growl. Big Mike then took a turn at making a speech, 
inciting rebellion against the Captain’s arbitrary orders. It resulted 
in a regular Irish row upon the Captain ordering Mike’s arrest and 
imprisonment in the guard houses Before we got through with it, 
the whole of the bold refugees were under the guns of some of the 
other troops, that had been called upon to quell the disturbance. 

It was lots of fun to Fatty and Lanyard, but for try part JPd 
rather get into veal battle than to becom~ mixed **■? \r m 

T V; - 


S56 


THE BO7 SPY. 


There were some horses in camp belonging to the several officers 
who were quartered-out there. Our Captain had his own, a finely- 
bred animal, which he rode to town and back every day. On ac¬ 
count of the deformity of his limbs or hips, it was necessary that 
he should be almost lifted into the saddle, which was made of a 
particular shape suited to him. Because of this necessity for hav¬ 
ing someone always with him, I was selected by the Captain, with 
whom I had become a favorite, to accompany him nearly every day 
on a second horse. He almost always rode straight to the War De¬ 
partment, and I went along with him as far as I could. In this 
way I was able to keep up safely my silent watch on the Rebel War 
Office, rarely missing a day during our stay in Camp Lee on which 
I did not get to town with the Captain. 

My gray uniform had been neatly fitted by the “ juke,” and my 
way of wearing my blouse coat-tails tucked inside my trousers had 
so pleased the Captain that he had ordered every man to wear his 
clothes as I did. This style of dress gave me a sort of Garibaldi 
appearance, and I fancy that, as I rode my horse fairly well, from 
an early training in Western Texas, I made a pretty creditable 
appearance on the streets of Richmond as a Rebel soldier boy. 

It was in this disguise that, I may safely assert, I openly visited 
every single point of interest in and around Richmond. 

I felt so perfectly secure and safe, that I had again become reck¬ 
less and careless. 

By reason of my close association with the Captain, as his pri¬ 
vate secretary or company clerk, I was able to secure from him his 
written permit to visit town in the evening. The Colonel (or 
Sergeant), Mr. Lanyard and myself had naturally gravitated toward 
each other, and visits to town, after dark were usually made by 
this congenial trio in one group, but we didn’t always return 
together. 

The old Colonel and Lanyard were the real Philistines, and I may 
safely put all their night raids upon them. Whenever the Colonel 
or Lanyard wished to go to town, one of them would come to me, 
as the “ Adjutant of their Corps,” as the Colonel used to say, and 
in their seductive manner ask me to write out a pass for three and 
get the “old man” to sign it. The Captain had gotten into the 
way of signing so many of the blank forms, that it was my daily 


THE BOY SPY. 


257 


duty to submit to him, liis signature was easily obtained to further 
our little schemes. 

Of the great number and variety of troops, probably the most 
popular, as a general thing, were the refugees from Maryland. 

For some months after the first battle, the ladies of the very 
best old families of Richmond were in the habit of making daily 
visits to the camps of the troops about the city. 

There was a crack battalion of “ gentlemen” soldiers from South 
Carolina that came to town during my stay, whose regiment Fve 
forgotten, but my impression is that it was Hampton’s South Car¬ 
olina Battalion. Their presence created quite a furore among the 
ladies of Richmond, and the dress-parade in the evening seemed 
to bring half the town out in carriages and in droves of pedestrians. 
These fellows wore a fancy uniform, and, without a word of exag¬ 
geration, I may say every private in the battalion was provided with 
a body servant—in most cases a likely boy, perhaps one of the slaves 
with whom the soldier had played as a child, was now sent along 
with him to the war to take care of the young master. 

Our Colonel didn’t like the attention that was being given to 
the South Carolina boys; perhaps he felt a little bit envious or 
jealous, as he observed to a lady: 

“ These fellows have brought along their niggers to carry 
umbrellas over them while they fight. ” 

While Lanyard thought: “ It’s most likely the nigger is there 
to fix up their cocktails. ” 

I have, myself, seen refined ladies in our camp, with sleeves 
rolled up and huge aprons covering their fine dresses, assisting the 
troopers to bake their biscuit and bread. The younger and better¬ 
looking ladies were often to be seen at camp, with baskets in hand, 
laying out bountiful spreads in the barrack “ dining-room. ” 

The appearance of these ladies at camp always put the Colonel 
on his mettle—he would go about our part of the quarters, his 
actions totally altered from his usual slow and quiet manner. 

Our sailor-boy chum, whom we called Lanyard, had not enjoyed 
the society of ladies so much as the Colonel, probably on account 
of his sea-faring life, and was rather inclined to resent the intrusion 
of the ladies. Through the Colonel’s gallantry and cheek, our little 
mess was pretty well remembered by the visiting sisters. 


258 


THE BOY SPY. 


It was through visits of this character that we became acquainteu 
with a nice young lady, whom we will call Capitola, because that 
wasn’t her name. She was a typical Southern girl. I can not 
describe her, except to say that she was a beautiful brunette, who 
had attended boarding school somewhere near Baltimore, and 
probably through this fact she became interested in the Maryland 
refugees. As I have said, the Colonel was a gallant fellow, and 
also a good manager, who was not slow to take advantage of the 
opportunity this pretty girl’s visits to our camp afforded. She, of 
course, made her visits in company with a bevy of other pretty girls, 
some of whom were equally as handsome as herself, but Capitola 
is the " v 1 o* this nart of our story. 

On 3 day jui* in. viuifccirj made a snecial call on our officers to 
notify hi their charming way, oi an enter Whim. r.f winch was 
to be given ih cue of the hallo in the city, to which Icaryu iiuc^ 
especially were invited, •Jhc 3olcne„ nk ccurtect. 
accepted the invitation icr us. 

When the ladies were ready rc return, hie Ooionei persistent^ 
escorted them to the gate—as he always did—while wo bashful boys 
stood back and envied his easy manner^ as he escorted them away 
from us. He always came back to us with a broad grin on his face, 
but, kept a taunting silence as to the conversation that seemed to be 
so interesting and amusing. 

We put in the balance of that day preparing for the evening'; 
entertainment. As a general thing, we were demoralized after the 
visit and could do nothing else. It so happened that it rained one 
of those cold, misty, half-rain and half-sleet storms, that are so dis¬ 
agreeable always, and especially so when they interfere with one's 
efforts to get himself up in his best shape. The storm did not, 
however, prevent a full attendance at the ball, for it was a sort of 
ball or reception, after some introductory addresses, accompanied 
by the music of “ Dixie ” and “ Maryland, my Maryland.’* 

Mrs. President Davis was present. Though I had frequently seen 
her, she never looked to my eyes other than a very ordinary matronly 
lady. 

It was a tableau, in which our girl was representing es Maryland 
enslaved*” She was attired, not exactly in the costume of the Greek 
. lave, out ip emoro mourning garr ■ vr ! :u her leaci f '\oweu . i£ 



THE BOT SPY, 


S59 


m great sorrow and distress. She walked on to the stage, and, with 
a pathetic appeal, lifted toward heaven as beautiful a face as I have 
ever seen, stretching out her bared arms, which were shackled by 
chains. It was a beautiful and a striking picture, presented with 
great effect, and I don’t suppose there was a person in the vast 
crowd who did not feel ready to make a desperate effort to release 
the pretty Maryland girl from those dreadful chains. I’m quite 
sure I should have done so if I’d had the opportunity, and would 
have been glad to have picked “ Maryland ” up and carried her away 
from such dreadful people, but we were not to be given this pri¬ 
vilege. 

At the proper moment, Mr. Present Davis stepped forward, 
and, like an accomplished actor, played his part excellently well, 
wrenching the chains from “Maryland” and setting her free. 
“Maryland” horrified all the battery boys by immediately throwing 
her arms around her rescuer. 

“ We’three roughish chaps together,” came away from that show 
with our empty heads in a whirl. It was still sleeting and quite 
cold. Lanyard, with an assumed shudder, proposed that we go to 
some saloon to get something hot to prevent our taking cold. 

I have never been drunk in my life. I say this here, because a 
good many persons who will read this will naturally think that any 
person who has “been around” as much as I, must at some time 
have been full. Especially as I am an old soldier, I know that 
some persons will laugh at this statement as a joke; but it’s a sober 
fact. I never was drunk, but I came mighty near it that night in 
Richmond. 

Lanyard was familiar with all the best places to “get some¬ 
thing,” and took us into a cozy, warm room, where there was a 
good, cheerful fire blazing. On one side of the room was the bar— 
one of those old-fashioned high counters—but you all know what a 
bar is like, so I won't attempt a description of such a place to old 
soldiers. On this counter was a large china bowl beautifully decor¬ 
ated on the outside, while within was floating a mixture that I had 
never seen before. On inquiry, I was informed by the bartender, 
with a significant grin at the Colonel, which I afterward recalled, 
that the mixture was Virgina apple-jack. 

You don’t know what that is? No, I think it has gone out of 


260 


THE HOT SPY. 


date, or perhaps its concoction is one of the lost arts. There were 
apples—roasted apples—floating in a sea of foam, that gave forth a 
most delightful fragrance. I was curious about the stuff, and being 
assured by Lanyard that it was a sort of cooked cider, that was 
made in Virginia as a temperance drink for those who were opposed 
to hard cider, I, in my unsuspecting innocence, partook of a mug 
full of the hot stuff. It was not hard to take, being quite pleasant 
to the taste, and, the evening being so cold and wet, I was prevailed' 
upon to poke my nose into another mug of the apple tea, “ just to 
keep from taking cold.” 

We all sat down at an adjoining table to await our order of fried 
oysters, the two companions becoming quite hilarious over their 
gin, in a way, which I recalled afterwards, as quite significant. 

The room was quite warm, and, as I began to dry out in its 
atmosphere, I became, I thought, too warm, and said as much, 
which my companions passed off in their careless way with a laugh. 

When I attempted to get on to my feet, for the first time in my 
life my head felt a little bit dizzy, and I had to support myself as I 
stood to get a proper balance. The table began to move, as if 
impelled by some unseen power; in looking up, the fire had grown 
into three or four different fires in as many different places; there were 
several hundred bottles behind the bar, and realizing in an instant 
what was coming, I made a sudden rush for the door, staggering 
through the room, amid the laughter of the Colonel and Laynard, 
who urged me to sit down; but I had not yet lost my head, and 
refused to stop until I got outside, when I leaned against the door 
until I cooled off, 

It was a close call, but the Federal -Spy dididt lose his head in 
Richmond that night. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


RICHMOND, FALL, 1861 — DAILY VISITS TO THE WAR OFFICE,' 
MECHANICS* HALL—EVENINGS DEVOTED TO VISITS IN TOWN— 
MIXED UP WITH MARYLAND LADIES—FORT PICKENS OPENS 
FIRE ON PENSACOLA BATTERIES—GENERAL WINDER, OF MARY¬ 
LAND—JEFF DAVIS INAUGURATED PRESIDENT—SHAKE HANDS 
WITH JEFF DAVIS. 

While it may very often become expedient for a spy, while per¬ 
ambulating in an enemy’s country, to drink socially with those with 
whom he desires to communicate, it is always a dangerous expedi¬ 
ent, because, of all persons, a spy requires a cool and clear head. 

Although these Confederate soldiers, with whom I was that night 
associated, had not the slighest suspicion of my true character and 
purposes, yet, if I had been made foolishly drunk by them, there is 
no telling what my loosened tongue might have done for me. We 
were—all three of us—very much “gone** on the enslaved beauty, 
and under such softening influences, at this particular time, a very 
light dose of Virginia “apple-jack/* added to the “Maryland** 
influence, would have completely upset us all. 

In fact, I was in greater danger of losing my heart than my 
head. The beautiful tableau which we had just witnessed, coupled 
with the presence of refined and lovely ladies, accompanied by the 
sweet music of Maryland, had more effectually intoxicated my 
senses than the seductive “apple-jack.** 

It will be remembered that in our set was the Lieutenant, who 
was supposed to have been a staid married man at home in Mary¬ 
land, and it would hardly be fair now to print his desperate efforts 
to cut out the boys of his company, simply because he was an offi¬ 
cer. We were only able to defeat his intrigue by bringing to our 
aid the gallant and handsome Second Lieutenant, a dark-eyed Missis¬ 
sippi gentleman, but he, with base ingratitude, took unfair 
advantage of the opportunities we had afforded him and used his 
big black eyes and seductive smiles to capture our girl —and she, 
<he beautiful but uncertain Capitola, the friend of the Maryland 


refugees, surrendered to our Mississippi Lieutenant, and there was 
great trouble and heart-burning in that Rebel battery ever after. 

My undertakings and surroundings in Richmond were not 
exactly adapted to the production of humorous or funny effects, 
but I had lots of fun, all the same, though I was not sent therefor 
that purpose. 

I went about the city during day-light in the garb of a Confed¬ 
erate soldier, carrying in my pocket the pass of the commanding 
officer at Camp Lee, which was furnished me freely through my 
Maryland Captain’s influence. 

General Winder, who became afterward notorious as the Provost- 
Marshal-General of Richmond and keeper of Libby Prison, was a 
Maryland man, and it so happened that he had known our Captain 
intimately while the two lived together in Baltimore, This was a 
most fortunate circumstance for my schemes, as the first endorsement 
I had taken General Winder was of a personal character from his 
friend, our Captain, and thereafter I became solid with General Win¬ 
der as long as I remained in Richmond. 

I was frequently tempted to go home; indeed, I had several 
times come to the conclusion, from my own observation, that there 
was to be no advance into Maryland, and that I might as well 
quit and go home; but, again, I really felt as if I must accomplish 
something first. I had stayed away so long, and had done nothing 
of importance, that I began to feel that it would be a degradation 
to crawl back home and have to explain to every person I knew 
where I had been and why I had been there. 

I wanted to go back when I should be made welcome. I confess 
right here that, since our pleasant acquaintance with the ladies of 
Richmond had been formed, I was becoming more content to remain 
longer in exile. The presence, and particularly the bright smiles 
and winning ways of our “ Capitola’’.was a very great attraction. 

I did not go about Richmond as a tramp or a peddler, as is the 
usual method of spies we read about in novels, but, instead, I per¬ 
sonated a high-toned Maryland youth—dressed myself in the grayest 
of gray uniform, adding all the red trimmings that my rank as 
Corporal permitted. I rode a good horse, and, in my capacity of 
Private Secretary or Orderly to our lame Captain, enjoyed unusual 
facilities. During the day-time I took advantage of all these circum- 


THE BOT SPY, 


263 

stances, and had my eyes and wits about me, while the night, in the 
company of our trio, was usually spent “about town,” where I met 
some of the best people, who welcomed us to their houses as Mary¬ 
landers exiled from our homes. I also encountered among others 
some of the very worst class of citizens. 

As I have before stated, our Captain frequently visited t'ne War 
Office, and I was nearly always taken along him, as he, on account 
of the stiffness of one of his legs, was unable to mount or dismount 
his horse without assistance. I learned, through this association 
with him, that the influence which he controlled at headquarters, 
and which enabled him—a cripple—to obtain such a good and 
much-sought-after position in the army over the heads of others, 
was derived, in part at least, from some relationship with Mr. Judah 
P. Benjamin, the Secretary of War for the Confederates. 

Mr. Benjamin, it will be remembered, was a close friend of Mr. 
Davis. 

As the fall was now well advanced into winter, the weather was 
daily becoming colder, the rains were more frequent, and once or 
twice we had some signs of snow, and occasionally that most dis¬ 
agreeable of all weathers—sleet, rain and cold, all at the same time. 
AVe understood, generally, that it was now getting too late in the 
season for a fall or winter invasion of Maryland. 

I had not learned enough of the art or science of war at that time 
to know that there were any seasons for Army operations. 

One day, while standing in the hall door of the War Depart¬ 
ment Office, waiting; as was my custom, for the Captain to 
come around, I was aroused from the indifference, which had grown 
upon me, by overhearing two persons, who were passing me, talking 
together excitedly about Fort Pickens and Pensacola. As we had 
been hearing nothing at all about Fort Pickens during these sum¬ 
mer and fall months, I had almost made up mind that the place 
had been overlooked. 

As may be imagined, I was not anxious on my own account to 
have the subject revived during my stay in Richmond. When I 
heard the word “ Pickens,” which to my ears was like a shot in the 
rear, I was instantly on the alert, and watched most eagerly the 
movements of the two gentlemen, whose discussion had attracted 
my attention. They passed along out of the building and together 


THE BOY SPY. 


264 

walked up tlie street and were gone out of my sight. It was evi¬ 
dent from their not paying any attention to my presence, that 
their conversation about Pickens did not have any reference to me 
or my connection with the affairs. 

I felt the least bit uneasy, however, and, while I stood about the 
War Office in Richmond that day, the terrible thought passed 
through my brain, “Had I in any manner given myself away, and 
was I being taken to the Department by our Captain for the purpose 
of entrapping or identifying me ? ” 

It does not take very long for these dreadful thoughts to get 
possession of one’s brain, and they do grow most wonderfully into 
the wildest fears and fancies in less time than it takes to write the 
words that will explain the incident. I waited and watched most 
anxiously about the square in front of the office, where our horses 
were tied, for the appearance of our Captain. He was not in the 
building at that time, I learned upon inquiring of some of the 
clerks. He was most likely further down town, or with General 
Winder. It was our custom to hitch our horses at this same place 
every day, when, after dismounting, the Captain went his way, 
while I did as I pleased also, it being understood always that at or 
near a certain time we were to remount at this place and together 
return to Camp Lee. 

That evening he was unusually late getting around, and when 
I saw him limping along, his cane pounding the pavement with 
more than ordinary vigor, I knew I should have to lift the old man 
bodily on to his horse. He was always more communicative at such 
times, and ready to tell all that he had learned during the day. To 
my own surprise I blurted out, without thinking of my words, so 
engrossed was my mind on this subject, as if determined to hear 
the worst at once: 

“ How about Fort Pickens ? 99 

“ Oh,” he growled out in his thick, gutteral tones, “the Yankees 
have opened fire on our fellows from that damned Fort Pickens.” 

“Is that all,” said I, with great a sigh of relief, which he must 
have noticed had he been sober enough. 

“That’s enough, ain’t it? The President and the Secretary are 
both disgusted with General Bragg for not capturing the damn 
place last spring,” 


THE BOY SPY. 


265 

ee Too bad ! 99 My thoughts wore, though I did not dare express 
them. I had prevented the capture of Fort Pickens in April. 

As we rode along in silence for the remainder of the way out to 
camp, I had the opportunity to recall the Fort Pickens service, and 
I wondered and planned in my own mind just how that duel would 
he carried on there. I should have liked so much to have wit¬ 
nessed the booming of guns from Pickens, and the exploding of 
the great shells over the exact spots in which I had located the 
masked Rebel batteries down there. 

My fears having been relieved by this explanation of the conver¬ 
sation I had overheard, I felt very much as if I’d like to go off by 
myself and yell for the old flag, just once, but I dare not; I must 
continue to suffer and enjoy, in the silence, that was becoming almost 
a second nature to me. 

It will be remembered that I had been at Montgomery, Alabama, 
at about the time, the provisional Government of Jeff Davis was 
being initiated at that place. I was at the same hotel for about a 
week at which Mr. Davis then occupied rooms. I had several times 
been close to his person—indeed, so near that I was able to overhear 
the conversation in which he always seemed to be engaged. 

Through the fortunes of war, and an adventurous, reckless dis¬ 
position, I was again, in the winter of the same year, at the Capitol 
of the Rebel Government in Richmond, Virginia, in a position to 
witness the formal inauguration of Mr. Jeff Davis as President of 
the “ permanent 99 Government of the Confederate States of Amer¬ 
ica, for the term of six years. 

I saw Mr. Davis inaugurated, attended his public reception on 
the same evening, and, with all the rest of the callers, I was intro¬ 
duced to him, shook his hand, looked into his one eye, and passed 
out into the darkest night that I ever remember to have seen. The 
inauguration ceremonies were intended to be imposing. 

We all know now that, even at the early stage of the war, there 
was much serious trouble among the Confederate leaders. During 
my experience among them there was scarcely a day that I did not 
hear expressions of discontent, and witness other evidences of a bit¬ 
ter feeling between the extreme Southern men and what they termed 
“ Virginia Yankees . 99 

My observations were, of course, principally among the rank 


TliK BOY BP7. 


266 

anti file, but I had also an eye and an eai for what was occurring 
among the higher classes. Though they were able to conceal their 
bickerings at the time, to a certain extent, we all know now, from 
the testimony of such men as Generals Joe Johnston, Beauregard 
and Longstreet, that there were always the smoldering embers of a 
volcano in the very heart of the Rebellion, and this cause alone 
would have prevented their success in the end, even if General 
Grant and the Army of the Potomac had been defeated in the 
field. 

Though Mr. Davis had been elected President without any 
contest, the fact remains that there had been hostile opposition to 
him from various sources, probably the most noted being that of 
Howell Cobb. We, of the Maryland Battery, were given to under¬ 
stand by our Captain that we would be expected to do our share, 
individually and collectively, in making the inauguration a success. 

The Secretary of War was a personal friend of our Captain, as 
will be remembered, and we all know now, if we did not suspect it 
then, that Mr. Benjamin was the Mephistopheles of Mr. Davis* 
Cabinet, such was the peculiar character of his services to his 
chief. 

Of course, we were all glad enough of an opportunity to display 
ourselves in Richmond as Marylanders who were exiled from home; 
we had been accustomed to receive the “ovations” of our Rich¬ 
mond lady friends, and we were all glad enough of another o} 3 por- 
tunity to secure all the attention we could command from them. 

There were some fears, too, that the inauguration might be of 
such a quiet character as to reflect somewhat, in this way, upon the 
administration of Mr. Davis. In brief, Mr. Benjamin and our 
side were to take an active part in making it a “ popular” ovation. 
I was in for this, as I had been for anything at all that would add a 
little spice to the daily routine of camp life, that was becoming 
tiresome to me. 

A couple of days previous to the inauguration day, we were all 
kept pretty busy drilling our awkward sqad in marching and in 
burnishing up our uniforms. AYe had received no arms as yet. 
The one old condemned iron cannon we were using to practice on 
was all that we refugees could boastin the way of arms, for the 
proposed invasion of Marvland. 


TIIE BOY SPY. 


267 

The trio before mentioned had been dubbed the “ Three roguish 
chaps together,” comprised the Colonel (our Sergeant), Lanyard, the 
sailor, and myself had promised the Captain our hearty cooperation. 
We determined to assist him and his friends in every way we could 
in “creating a demonstration,” leaving for ourselves the evening 
following the reception of the President. 

The eventful morning came at last, ushered in by a slowly-driz¬ 
zling, cold rain. Indeed it promised about as inauspicious for a 
street display as could have been imagined. Later in the day the 
rain increased, and about the hour set for the ceremonies it had 
settled down to a steady pour. 

It was, indeed, a dreary day in Richmond overhead as well 
under foot. We marched to the city through slop and mud, that 
added to our personal misery and discomfiture, as well as it detracted 
from our intended gay appearance. 

The ceremony took place in the Capitol Grounds—a stand had 
been erected in the neighborhood of the Henry Clay statue. On 
account of the pouring rain, it was necessary at almost the last 
hour for a gang of workingmen to erect a temporary roof or shel¬ 
ter over the place from which Mr. Davis was to deliver his inau¬ 
gural address. 

I did not get to hear a word of it, but I was not caring a scrap 
about it just then. I saw Mr. Davis, though, through all the pro¬ 
ceedings—we were stationed at some distance down the hill and 
looked up over a sea of umbrellas. 

After the ceremony was over, we three were permitted by our 
Captain to remain in town, and the trio at once found shelter in 
the same comfortable restaurant in which I had first tasted the 
r apple-jack. Here we were permitted to dry out our wet clothing 
and enjoy a good old-fashioned Virginia dinner, which mine host 
had prepared in honor of the day. The great china punch-bowl 
was still on the high bar, filled almost to the brim with the sweet¬ 
smelling, seductive apple-jack, in which floated some roast apples, 
which w r ere garnished with cloves, so they looked like great pine 
balls, but I felt that they were as dangerous as porcupines. 

I was urged to drink several times indeed, but one taste was 
enough for me. The landlord was rather hurt, or pretended to be, 
that I should refuse to accept from his own hands the courteously 


268 


THE BOY SPY. 


proffered mug of tlie delicious compound, to be drunk in honor 
of the day, etc. 

The Colonel, who had been such a good friend since we had met 
while I was sick in the hotel, had formed apparently the utmost 
confidence in me. In fact, our relations became of the most inti¬ 
mate character, as far as was possible between any two persons 
who were so unlike in disposition and purposes. The Colonel was 
my senior by several years; perhaps, because of this, or may be from 
the fact that he had nursed me out from my illness and led me into 
the company, I felt that he had an oversight or care over me, and 
acted toward me in the kindly way of an elder brother. 

In the love affairs, in which we all became so absurdly mixed up 
with our Maryland slave, Capitola, the Colonel had taken it upon 
himself to act in my behalf and for my good. I had taken him into 
my confidence about Capitola, and told him all about my trouble in 
that direction; how our officers had taken undue advantage of their 
uniform to cut me out, etc. He agreed with me that it was an 
“ outrage,” and admitted, with a smile, that I now recall as signifi¬ 
cant, that it was due entirely to the uniforms. 

I had accepted his offer to make things all right for me. I had 
consented most reluctantly to the Colonel's disinterested and 
brotherly advice—not to have anything more to do with Capitola. 

On inauguration day, being in town and feeling in pretty good 
trim, I yielded to the impulse, and concluded to meet Capitola just 
once more, to say “ Good-by,” provided I could do so without letting 
the Colonel find it out. 

While trying to fix up a scheme to get away from him and Lan¬ 
yard that afternoon, so that I might make the proposed call unde¬ 
tained, I was delighted to hear the Colonel ask Lanyard and I, to 
excuse him for a couple of hours, as he had an important engage¬ 
ment with the Lieutenant that afternoon — business must be 
attended to. 

I was not long in getting away from Lanyard, and quickly 
skipped around to the well known residence of our Capitola. She 
surprised me by meeting me cordially and, all in one breath, 
demanded to know why I had stayed away so long. 

“Why, ” she said, in her smiling, innocent way, “all the rest of 
your boys have been to call on us. ” 


THE BOY SPY. 


S69 


“ Indeed,” thought I; and when I had sufficiently recovered to 
Sisk who had been there since I had been gone, she smilingly said : 

“Why, your friend, the Colonel, calls frequently; also that 
Mississippi Lieutenant of yours. Isn't he just too nice?" 

This was not exactly what I expected or desired to hear from 
Capitola, but it was enough. The Colonel, my brotherly friend, 
was deceiving me, too. One purpose of my visit had been to 
request her company to the reception at the President's that 
evening. I had formed the impression that it would be a great 
scheme for the Spy to escort the Maryland slave to Jeff Davis' 
reception. When I had intimated the object of my visit, she burst 
into a hearty laugh as she said, cheerily : 

“Oh, that is too funny. I believe every soldier from Maryland 
in your company has made that request already, and I had to 
decline them all, because I had engaged to go with the Lieutenant, 
you know." 

I was preparing to take my leave when the door bell rang. 
After a few more words and a sad “ Good-by" to Capitola, I was 
about to leave the room when I ran against my disinterested, broth¬ 
erly Colonel, who had been trying to replace himself in the affec¬ 
tions of my girl—while advising me to stay away. He was not at 
all embarrassed, but at once broke out into a hearty laugh, and, 
pulling me over to a sofa, we had a talk about the affair, which 
amused Capitola so much that her merry laughter rang through 
the house as she gathered the situation from our “ explanations." 

The Colonel proposed going out with me, but I noticed that he 
had cunningly slipped Capitola to one side and whispered in her 
ear something which had the effect of causing her cheery laughter 
to break out in a fresh place. She rushed over to me and, placing 
both hands on my shoulder, said: 

“ There is another—he wants me to go with him to the recep¬ 
tion." 

So I had my turn to laugh on the Colonel. We were about to 
leave. Capitola, smiling, suggested that we march the whole com¬ 
pany down to her house and she should go along with all of us— 
as the Fille de Regiment. 

Despite the weather and some gloomy forebodings of friends, the 
j’§ceptioii of President Jeff Davis was a success—in the way of a crowd! 


270 


THE B07 SPY. 


at least. It seemed to me at tile time that everybody was there. There 
were all kinds of people present during the evening—the very best 
class of the citizens of Richmond and, perhaps, some of the very 
worst element, along with the numerous army officers and soldiers. 

Richmond, in the winter of 1861, may justly be termed, at that 
time, the wickedest city in America. Adventurous gamblers and 
bad citizens of every conceivable description had flocked to the 
Rebel Capital from New Orleans and all parts of the South and 
North. One portion of Main street was abandoned almost wholly 
to gambling houses, which, at night, were inhabited by the worst 
kind of characters, in Rebel uniforms. These people and their 
associates, who were in the city for sport and to ply their vocations, 
flocked in great numbers to all places where crowds were gathered, 
such as theatres, receptions, etc. 

The Mayor of the city, a Mr. Mayo—whose name I remember 
so well because it lacked but the final letter “ r ” to spell the name 
and position in the same word—was a dignified, gray-haired, old 
Virginia gentleman, who did the best he could to preserve the peace 
and order of the city. I saw him frequently on the street and at 
the City Hall, on Broad street. I never had any dealings with him 
in his official capacity that prevents my bearing this testimony to his 
good intentions. He was on hand at the reception, as the city 
official, as was also Governor Letcher, who was another Virginia 
gentleman and official who I can remember with feeling of respect. 
General Winder, who had been a police inspector, or something of 
the kind, in Baltimore, was, in reality, the Governor, the Mayor, and 
the Provost-Marshal combined in one, as well as Military Governor, 
with absolute authority from the Confederate Government. He 
had, as a Baltimorean, imported into Richmond a number of the 
Baltimore ex-police, or plug-uglies, whom he had employed as spe¬ 
cial detectives in his service. 

We went to the President’s house together, early; and we stayed 
around the neighborhood as long as we could stand the storm, in- 
hope of getting a sight of Claiborne and Capitola. 

The Colonel and I took our places in the line, to be presented 
in our turn. I had some slight misgivings on the outcome of this 
adventure, because I knew that Mr. Davis had frequently seen me 
while in Montgomery with him, and I feared that the subsequent 


THE BOY SPY. 


$71 

notoriety I had obtained from the Fort Pickens episode would have 
served to have placed me in his mind. It will be remembered, too, 
that the press all over the South, as well as the North, had fully 
described my visit from Montgomery to Pensacola. So, it was with 
something of a nervous quivering at the heart that I saw myself 
being slowly advanced to the President. I watched his face closely 
from my place in the line before I reached him, and saw him court¬ 
eously and smilingly take each one by the hand as he was presented. 

As I have said before, Mr. Davis’ face was thin—his cheeks 
somewhat sunken. His pictures do not properly represent his face, 
as it was only when he smiled and spoke in his low, soft, gentle 
manner, that he was so fascinating to those who knew him best. 

He was, of course, severe and unbending to his enemies, but he 
was always the same to friends. 

The Colonel was ahead of me, and, as Iris name was mentioned, 
he said to Mr. Davis, as he turned to me : 

“A couple of Maryland boys have come to pay their respects to 
you, Mr. President.” 

Mr. Davis held his hand for a moment, saying, pleasantly, to 
the Colonel: 

“Why, I’m right glad to see you.” 

At the same time he reached his other hand to me, and, for a 
moment, he grasped us each with a hand saying, as he looked at 
me with that one mighfy bright eye: 

“I’m glad to see you both.” 

We passed on, my heart fluttering terribly; but, once, in the 
crowd again, I felt that I had passed another danger. We lingered 
in the crowd for a short time; saw all who came and left in that time, 
and not being able longer to stand the storm, while waiting for a 
glimpse of Capitola, I turned away from the crowd into the dark¬ 
ness of a stormy night and wandered out to camp, so much absorbed 
in my own thoughts that I lost all care for my appearance—trudg¬ 
ing blindly along through the darkness into the mud and slush , 
until I reached camp, tired, where I quickly tumbled into the bunk 
and was quickly lost to all consciousness of the day’s doing. 


CHAPTER XX. 


ONE SUNDAY IN RICHMOND—JEFF DAVIS’ AND GENERAL LEFTS 
HOMES AND CHURCH—RECOGNIZED AT LIBBY PRISON—VISIT TO 
TEXAS CAMP—A “ DIFFICULTY ” RENEWED—THRILLING EXPE¬ 
RIENCE—A NIGHT IN RICHMOND WITH TEXAS BOYS. 

From the subsequent questionings of our people North about 
how things looked in Richmond during the war, I gathered that 
they all entertained erroneous impressions about the conditions of 
affairs in that city at that time. I have been trying to describe 
them from a Unionist's standpoint. Though it had been in a state 
of siege at the time of which I write, and was apparently cut off 
from the balance of the world for a year, yet there was absolutely 
nothing in the general appearance of things in the streets to indi¬ 
cate that the city suffered in the least from the blockade. 

It may he said that Richmond was very much like Washington 
at the same period, the principal difference being that the soldiers 
who thronged the streets and filled the saloons and houses of one 
city were in a gray uniform, while those in the other wore a blue. 
There was probably more of the blue boys loose in Washington than 
of the gray in Richmond, because the Confederate officials and, par¬ 
ticularly, Provost-Marshal-General Winder, of Maryland, was able, 
witli the despotic power granted him by the War Office, to prevent a 
great deal of straggling. 

The weather was now settled into the regular Virginia winter, 
alternating into rain, snow, slush and sleet. Under these conditions 
it was impossible for either army to move, and, as a consequence, the 
city was soon filled full of officers from Manassas, who were on leave 
from their command, or of soldiers on furlough, or straggling desert¬ 
ers. No one will attempt to claim that the city at this time was 
orderly; in fact, the oldest citizens are ready to assert, even now, 
that, during the early winter months, the respectable portion of the 
community were in truth beseiged in their own houses. It was 
scarcely safe for a lady to venture alone in certain portions of the 
town during the day time, while at night the straggling furloughed 


THE BOY SPY. 


273 


officers and soldiers, under such conditions, on the same equality, 
had entire possession in the streets and certain parts of the city. 

There was apparently no scarcity of money—such as it was— 
and there was not, that I can recall, any limit of the supply of 
whisky and all the other little attachments that the soldiers either 
in gray or in blue will have. 

Main street, 1886, looked to me very much as in did in 1861 and 
1862, except, perhaps, that on the occasion of my last visit the city 
presented to my eye somewhat the appearance of Sunday, in its 
general orderly and quite bearing, as compared with the noisy, 
boisterous crowds that we saw on the streets daily in 1861 and 1862. 

Camp Lee was on that side of the city furthest from the Libby 
Prison and Rocket’s Wharf, and those places in the neighborhood of 
which I had spent most of my time in the first days of my visit, 
after recovering from my illness. 

I had neglected to visit my early friends, the guard at Libby 
during these later days, because of the long distance of our camps 
from them, and not that I had forgotten or lost interest in our pris¬ 
oners at Libby. 

One Sunday morning, the weather being rather more agreeable 
than any we had enjoyed for some days previously, I obtained per* 
mission and a pass from our Captain to go to the city early in the day 
to attend church. The Captain pleasantly granted the request. 
Some of the officers, who were near by when I asked the privilege of 
attending church, facetiously recommended the Captain not to 
refuse anything that would tend to improve the morals of his cor¬ 
poral or clerk. I went off alone on foot, intending to make a visit 
to the prisoners before I should return. 

Perhaps I may have been feeling a little bit homesick and dis¬ 
gusted with Richmond on this Sunday morning, because on the 
evening previous our beautiful Capitola had—to put it vulgarly— 
gone back on me for our Lieutenant. 

I walked into the city via Franklin street, which is the aristo¬ 
cratic residence street of Richmond. There are on this thorough¬ 
fare some old Virginia homes and families that the city snd State 
may well be proud of. General Lee’s family lived on this street in 
a large, plain, double brick house, on the south side, one or two 
blocks from the Capitol Grounds. The house is quite ordinary- 


THE BOY SPY. 


MU 

looking as compared with that of some of the large private resi¬ 
dences in the neighborhood, but it will always remain to Southern 
people one of the historic houses of their city, because it was here 
on the street, on a Sunday morning after the surrender, that Gen¬ 
eral Lee, accompanied by a few members of his staff, rode up to his 
door, dismounted from his war horse—Traveler—and, with a silent 
wave of the hand, parted with his personal staff, entered his house 
and closed the doors forever on his hopes of a Confederacy. 

It is not written what occured behind the closed doors, but there 
is gossip, which has, perhaps, been confirmed, that the staid, 
reserved, dignified old General, once inside his own hall at his home, 
completely broke down and fell to the floor, from which he was 
carried to his bed by the servants and that part of his family who 
were present. 

The home of General Lee is more sought out by tourists in 
Richmond nowadays than is that of President Jeff Davis. 

A block below, or nearest the Capitol, and directly opposite the 
grounds, stands St. PauPs Episcopal Church, in which both Presi¬ 
dent Davis and General Lee worshiped. On the Sunday morning 
of which I am writing, in 1861, I took a position at the Fountain 
Hotel, directly opposite the church, to await the arrival of Presi¬ 
dent Davis. There had been a good bit of talk about Mr. Davis’ 
intentions of joining this church. Though he was a regular attend¬ 
ant during his early days in Richmond, it was not until some months 
after—and, I think, during the day of which I write—that he was 
formally baptized and confirmed into that church. 

I did not have to wait long for the appearance of Mr. Davis. He 
came on to the steps so suddenly that I nearly missed seeing him. 
He was alone, and dressed in his usual plain way—had walked up 
from the direction of his office, when I had looked for him coming 
down through the grounds from his house. He spoke pleasantly to 
the few people whom he passed on his way, and disappeared inside 
the church. 

Mr. Davis, whatever may be said of his public character, and a 
great deal has been written against him by his own Southern peo- 
nie, always impressed me at sight as being an agreeable, honest 
gentleman. I was frequently close to him, and always felt his pres¬ 
ence, impressed with the feeling that he was having a great deal of 


THE BOY SPY. 


276 


serious trouble. I have often wondered if Mr. Davis ever enter¬ 
tained, for a moment even, the thought or fear that his life was in 
danger. I hope he may live long, and perhaps read the poor story 
of the Yankee Spy, who dogged his very footsteps in Richmond 
from after the battle of Bull Run until the winter following, and 
prevented any attempt at invasion of the North. 

After the President had entered the Church, I lounged outside 
while the great organ gave the beautiful Sunday morning an 
impressive salute. When the tones had died away, feeling more 
homesick and blue than ever, I started olf on my walk down Main 
street toward the Libby and the Warehouse prisons. As Libby is 
in the lower end of the city pretty close to Rockett's Wharf, it was a 
long walk, though it was Sunday, and the shops along the way were 
open and dispensing refreshments to the crowds. 

My early Rebel friend was not on guard that morning, but some 
of his friends said he would be around after dinner, so, under pre¬ 
tense of waiting for him, I sat around in such shape that I could 
get a good view of the “ animals" as they called the prisoners. 

The tobacco warehouses in which the prisoners were confined 
have been so often discribed that any attempt of mine would be 
superfluous. It will be remembered, however, that, even before the 
war, all these large barn-like buildings were constructed pretty 
much after the form of our modern bonded warehouses. All the 
windows were made with iron bars, presenting the appearance of 
cages. 

Groups of our poor fellows were easily to be seen through the 
bars, some of them having become pretty ragged; others were stand¬ 
ing by the windows peering through the bars; a few walked or 
promenaded in pairs up and down the large barn-like floors. There 
were always two sentries and an officer at the main door, while on 
the pavement in front other sentries paced their silent beats, so 
that it was impossible for me to have any communication with 
them. 

I desired for a particular reason to ascertain the names of some 
of' the prisoners, and, if possible, to get the address of their friends 
in the North, that I might test my mail communication, by send¬ 
ing some word direct to them. Perhaps, for my own good, I was 
not successful. 


THE BOY SPY. 


876 


I may be permitted to say here that, in case we had another 
war, the benefit of the Signal Service Code will be made apparent 
in this, that a silent communication may be carried on between 
friends of the same side under just precisely such conditions as i 
have described here. 

If there had been a prisoner inside the bars who had been famil* 
iar with the Telegraph Code, as adapted to the motions of the hand, 
I could have spelled out over the head of the guard, without his 
knowledge, quite as rapidly as I can write it, messages that would 
have been a relief and pleasure to the prisoners inside, if not other- 
wise beneficial. 

It was while standing in front of the Warehouse Prison, on Main 
street, thinking and planning over the possibilities in this direction, 
looking intently, from where I stood on the inside of the pavement, 
through the windows at the prisoners, that I felt a slap on my back 
that caused me to jump like an india-rubber ball. The voice, which 
was not a familiar one, said, loudly enough for even the prisoners to 
hear, using my own, my right name: 

“Hello, Blank!” 

When I turned to see who had “struck” me, I am sure that I 
presented a very flushed and, perhaps, angry face. I did not at once 
recognize the person, probably because he was in a gray uniform, 
but the smiling face of his companion, in the full black beard, I at 

once recognized as Doctor-, of San Marcos, Texas, whom I 

had known familiarly as the young son of my uncle's neighbor. 

I saw that I was caught at last, as I fully believed, and deter¬ 
mined to make the most of my short time. 

The tall young fellow, who had first approached me, I was able 
to recall, as the doctor mentioned his name and a visit we had 
made together to his house. 

I was assured somewhat, and recovered from my surprise by the 
doctor extending his hand, and in the most agreeable and hearty 
manner, said: 

“ Well, Blank, I'm damn glad to see you are on the right side.” 

I hardly knew what to say to them, the surprise was so great’ 
but this remark served to bring me to my senses, and I replied in a 
somewhat embarrassed manner, by asking what they were doing in 
Richmond ? 



THE BOY SPY. 


m 

“ Oli! we are all here. Our regiment is encamped just out 
here. We have been in town to church, but are going out to camp 
now.” Then taking my arm, familiarly, said: “ Come along, the 
boys will all be glad xo see you ? ” 

Their invitation was so cordial, and I was being urged with such 
earnestness to join them, that I could see at once that they did not 
suspect my true character. It was evident that neither of them 
had heard of my Fort Pickens affair. 

The one difficulty I saw before me in renewing this Texas 
acquaintance was, that I should have to represent in Richmond two 
different characters, under the two different names. I might be able 
to keep up this dual character if the two crowds were distinct or sepa¬ 
rated, but there was, of course, a great risk in this. 

I did not, under any circumstances, want to become known by 
the name in Richmond by which I had been so widely published as 
the Pensacola Spy. All the Rebel detective force, which was made 
up principally of Baltimore police and detectives imported by Gen¬ 
eral Winder, had undoubtedly been furnished with instructions to 
look after spies, and perhaps I had been specially honored by their 
notice as being the first on record during the war. 

But I could not well resist the demand to accompany these two 
Texas boys out to their camp ; and when they suggested that I must 
see my old friends from Texas, and seemed to take it as an affront 
that I should hesitate, there seemed to be no way out of it—espec¬ 
ially as they had proposed furnishing me a horse to return to my 
own camp in the evening. 

I reluctantly started to walk out to their camp, talking famil¬ 
iarly and cordially on the way, as they did about their delight at 
finding me on the “ right” side. I could not entertain the thought 
that these honest-hearted Texan youths, who had never before been 
so far from home, were capable of any trick—they were sincerely 
glad to see me. I felt instinctively that they were old friends and 
neighbors of my Texas uncle, who did not suspect me of being a 
Aankee Spy. 

The road to the camp of the Texans led in the direction of 
Seven Pines (or Fair Oaks), where Johnston attacked McCellan's 
left in the following May, and the camn itself was not far from that 
point. 


£78 


THE BOY SPY. 


As we tramped along a pleasant chat was kept up, and though I 
was on the alert to hear if any suspicion attached to me for the 
Fort Pickens matter, nothing was said to indicate that either one 
had ever heard of the affair. They were, undoubtedly, sincere in 
their cordiality, and only desired to gratify their companions in 
camp with their success in having found one whom they all knew, 
so far away from their Texas homes. 

In the talk, I gathered that one company in their regiment 
came from the neighborhood in which my uncle lived, and was 
composed principally of the very set of young fellows with whom I 
had been associated there only the previous winter. They gave me 
the names of a good many of the boys, and amused me with the 
accounts of the journey they had made from Texas to Virginia in 
search of the war. The fact of my having an uncle in the South 
would of itself have been sufficient indorsement for my “loyalty” 
with most of these fellows, but I recalled to myself that, while 
amongst them in Texas, I had got into trouble several times by my 
outspoken Northern sentiments during the Presidential campaign, 
which was then going on. The doctor probably referred to this 
when he congratulated me so heartily on having found me on the 
right side. 

We finally reached the camp. I was marched up to the company 
quarters, and was generally recognized by the boys, who were as 
sincerely glad to see me as if I Avas just from their home. I was at 
home among them—everything Avas all right there, and I enjoyed 
renewing the friendship of a year previous. Among the boys Avas 
one felloAV, to Avhom I referred in the introduction of this story, as 
having a difficulty with—the grandson of David Crockett, the hero of 
the Alamo. Young Crockett, like most of his class, had been 
taught to presume a little on the glory of his ancestors. This had 
made him somewhat personally disagreeable to his associates; but 
he kept away from me that day. 

i remained in camp until after dress parade. It was a regiment 
of a*s fine a looking set of truly American men and boys as I have 
ever seen in either army. Their war record, as the Texas Rangers, 
Avill bear me out in this opinion. Their Colonel Avas afterward tho 
famous General John B. Hood. 

I Avas urged to stay for camn dinner. The boys, Avith whom I 


THE BOY SPY. 


279 


had so often before been in camps in Texas, while “ rounding up 99 
their stock, were all well up to the use of the camp-kettles and pots, 
and, with the advantages of the city cfose by them, they were able 
to get up in good style, first-class shape, one of the good old-style 
Western Texas dinners. We were having a.good time all around. 
I was being urged to get a release from my Maryland Battery and 
join the Texas Brigade. 

I saw that I could not very well keep up this dual character. 
\-.he very cordiality of these fellows would lead to their visiting me 
up in the Maryland Battery, and, once there, things would become 
badly mixed up. I would never be able to explain to these Mary¬ 
land fellows that I was in reality another fellow altogether, and it 
would cause some confusion in the Texas camp to have to explain 
the other way to my Texas friends. 

These thoughts, however, detracted but little from the pleasure 
of my visit, for, as 1 felt that somehow or other I would get out of 
the difficulty, I did not concern myself for a moment. 

It was a mistake to have accompanied the Texans to their camp. 
It was, to say the least, when there, very indiscreet to place myself 
on exhibition among the hundreds of other spectators who were 
grouped in front of the Texas regiment while they were having 
their Sunday dress parade. 

In the society of the earnest and cordial Texas acquaintances 
whom I had found—or who had found me—I had wholly over¬ 
looked the little circumstance that had occurred during the night 
at the theater, when, it will be remembered, I had been pleasantly 
approached after the dismissal by a couple of Confederates who 
said they had met me in Texas the preceding winter. I was then 
that evening in the company of the Colonel, who knew me only as 
a Marylander, and by an entirely different name than that by which 
the Texans addressed me, and it will be remembered that I then 

declined to be recognized as-, and had, perhaps, rather curtly 

repelled their courteous advances. 

As I sat at camp dinner on an improvised bench in front of the 
tent with my friends, with consternation I saw approaching me 
the very chap whom I had snubbed in the vestibule of the theater. 
The appearance of this tall fellow at the time, in his gray clothes, 
had about such an effect on me at the dinner table in that company 


THE EOT SPY. 


280 

in broad daylight as a ghost might produce when alone somewhere 
near midnight. He had his'staring eyes fixed right on me. There 
was no mistaking it. 

My dangerous predicament rushed to my mind at once. Luck¬ 
ily for me, perhaps, we were all seated at the table, so the fellow 
had politeness enough not to intrude himself upon the crowd, but 
walked on past us keeping his eye searchingly, and I felt sternly, 
fixed on me. I lost my appetite, which a moment previously was 
ravenous, and, as soon as I could decently do so, meekly suggested 
that, as I had a long way to go, Fd better leave them at once. 

“ 0, no; we are going to escort you back to your camp on a 
horse, as we agreed to do.” 

That was very kind, of course, but if there was any one thing 
that I did not want to happen just then, was any farther attention 
to be paid to their guest. I declined the proffered kindness with 
so much earnestness that it might have had the effect of quieting 
the matter had not one of the fellows observed: 

“ Well, Fm going to town to-night anyway, and you can wait 
awhile and ride that far.” 

I have no doubt that the conversation between myself and the 
Texas Confederates that evening (in the light of subsequent events), 
would be interesting to any of them yet living who may see this 
narrative, and if I were able to put it down here in detail it might 
also be interesting to the ordinary reader. 

I remember all that occurred during the half hour that followed 
the dinner hour. Could I forget that banquet? 

While my newly-found old friends were arranging among them¬ 
selves a programme to spend the evening in Richmond with me as 
their guide, my searching glances detected that my tall theatre 
acquaintance had gathered a group of half a dozen of his comrades 
around himself, and, as I imagined, he was earnestly explaining to 
them his experience with me at the theatre door. 

Of course, I must have imagined the worst; who would not have 
done so under the same conditions ? He probably did not suspect 
my true character at all, and was, perhaps, only entertaining his 
associates with an account of what he, no doubt, termed the shabby 
treatment that I had accorded him, as compared with what he was 
witnessing in my intercourse with the other boys. It had, ho\y» 


THE BOY SPY, 


m 


ever, another dangerous effect of calling the attention of a great 
many of the regiment to their visiting comrade in gray—the Mary¬ 
land refugee—who was, by a stretch of the imagination, almost as far 
from home as were the Texans, because, as they said, in their sym¬ 
pathetic way, when speaking of their absence and distance from 
home : 

“We can get home if we have occasion to go, but you cannot, 
because you live in a foreign country that's at war with us, you 
know." 

While talking together, tne doctor came up to the group of 
which I was the center, and remarked in a half-quizzical way, his 
face wearing a smiling expression: 

“Say, Blank, Jim Haws says he met you one night at the 
theatre, and you wouldn't speak to him." 

Right here I made another mistake that day, by denying that I 
had refused to speak to any one. 

“ That's what I told him, but he swears that he and Bill Will¬ 
iams both saw you there." 

I realized that I had again put my foot into it; but, I suppose, on 
the principle that a lie well stuck to will answer for the truth, I 
deliberately thrust myself deeper into the mire by insisting that 
I had not met any one at the theatre. This was satisfactory to the 
friends near me, who had become somewhat interested in the talk, 
and it all might have passed off without any further questioning or 
investigation if my former enemy, Davy Crockett, Jr., had not 
meddled with the affair. He had, as it subsequently appeared, 
been volunteering his sympathies and comments unfavorable to me 
to the two comrades whose story of the “insult "at the theatre had 
reached him. Of course, the motive that prompted young Crock¬ 
ett was simply a desire to get even with me, for presuming to 
promptly accept a challenge from him while in Texas to fight a duel. 

As I have said, the one thing that I most desired just at that 
time was to get away from that crowd. If this intention had not 
been so fixed in my mind, or if I had at all thought of being 
delayed, perhaps I should have conducted myself with more discre¬ 
tion, and not have committed the blunder of denying a matter that 
would so soon and so surely react on me and endanger my life. 

When we were about ready to leave the camp, and as I was flat- 


m 


THE BOY 8P\. 


tering myself that once out of sight I should be out of mind, and 
have another opportunity to get away, I was confronted by the 
identical Jim Haws, who had brought to our part of the camp “a 
few friends,” among whom was Billy Williams. In a voice tremb¬ 
ling with suppressed rage, he said, looking savagely at me 

“ Didn’t you see me at the theater the other night ?” 

I have before stated, not with egotism, but as an explanation 
for some of my statements, that it is or has been one of my good 
points to always have been able to meet a sudden danger cooly, 
while at the same time I confess that I would tremble with appre¬ 
hension and fear if I were anticipating or expecting the same dan¬ 
ger. 

Looking him straight in the eye—for I was riled by his savage 
manner—I answered, resentfully and boldly : 

“I don’t know whether I did or not. I’ve seen so many fellows 
like you around town that I’ve not minded them much.” 

For the moment my defiant manner served to give me the advan¬ 
tage, and the fellow was so badly stumped that he couldn’t answer 
at once, but turning to his friend and companion, AFilliams, whom 
he had brought along as a witness to prove tq the boys that he was 
right in his assertion of my having insulted him, he said : 

“ Bill, ain’t he the fellow?” 

Whether it was a disposition on the part of Bill to prevent any 
outbreak (a crowd was collecting), he mildly answered: 

“Well, it looks mighty much like him, but you know we might 
be mistaken,” and, turning to Bill, said, politely: 

“ My friend felt sure you were the man we met that night, but, 
as I had never seen you at home, and it was so chirk and crowded 
there, I can’t be certain myself.” 

At this stage, while I had become too much excited to talk coolly, 
my friends stepped in and interfered in my behalf, and Bill and Jim 
walked off with their friends, the latter muttering threats of ven¬ 
geance. 

The little ruffle on the surface, which looked like a “difficulty” 
on this quiet Sunday evening, created quite a commotion about the 
quarters. All know how quickly a fight will gather a crowd in 
camp, and how soon the officers become aware of it. 

The serious part of this threatened fight was in the fact, that it 



'•BILL, AIN’T HB THB VKLLOWt” 

















































THE BOY SPY. 


283 


served to call general attention to me individually—would bring to 
the scene not only the officer of the day, but other officers of the 
regiment, who had been attracted by the gathering crowd. 

Explanations followed freely in our own crowd, to the effect that it 
was a case of mistaken identity, which was generally accepted good- 
naturedly. The fact that I was a visitor, and a friend of some of the 
best men in the regiment, who were ready to vouch for me (as the 
“Nephew of my Uncle”)—had been inhospitably or ungenerously 
treated by any of their men while a guest—had the effect on these 
good, generous-hearted boys of completely turning the tide of feel¬ 
ing to sympathy for me. In the general exchange of courtesies, 
which resulted from the officers coming down to see us, it so hap¬ 
pened that I was introduced to a Captain Somebody, who, not hear¬ 
ing distinctly, had asked for my name a second time, and on my 
repeating it with some little pride on my uncle's account, he said, 
turning to his companion, who was also an officer: 

“Why, isn't that the name of the Yankee Spy that was at Pen¬ 
sacola?” 

I have often, often thought, in the years that have since passed, 
of that one terrible moment of my life. Here I was just emerging 
from one difficulty, resulting from my dual character as a spy, 
while I was in Richmond, and on the precipice of another greater 
danger directly in my path. A single word improperly spoken at 
that time would have condemned me to the scaffold in less than 
twenty-four hours. 

I felt for the moment that the fates were against me and deter¬ 
mined to crush me at last. Realizing that the mere reopening of 
my difficulty with the Texas boys must now result in an investiga¬ 
tion, and that would lead in the one direction, only to the gallows, 
I said nothing. Perhaps I was too much stunned for an instant to 
speak ; but I have often thought that my flushed face was misinter¬ 
preted by those who must have seen it to indicate resentment at the 
coupling of my name in such a way. 

My friend, the doctor, relieved my temporary embarrassment by 
speaking up for me, saying, in a laughable way that seemed to 
change the subject: 

“Come on, let us get away from here, or somebody will swear 
they saw you some place else.” 


THE BOY SPY. 


*84 

Thus relieved, I quietly suggested to the Captain that I had 
been wearing a gray uniform up in Virginia since I left Texas. 

1 was again temporarily out of danger and breathed a little 
freer, but became nervously anxious to get away, and hurried up 
the boys who were to accompany me into town. 

While still talking to these officers, the younger one, to whom 
the Captain had addressed the inquiry as to the name of the Pensa¬ 
cola Spy, incidentally volunteered the information that their com¬ 
pany, which was a part of the regiment, had been organized about 
Galveston in the early days of April-and May, and, while waiting 
for the enlistment of the regiment's full quota, they had been ordered 
to New Orleans, and from thence were assigned to duty at Pensacola, 
Florida, and were actually there about the time of my adventure 
to Fort Pickens. 

I did not feel like pursuing the conversation much further in 
that direction. I quickly changed the subject, so as to make an 
impression on their minds that I had been in active service in Vir¬ 
ginia right along. This was not difficult, and I had the satisfac¬ 
tion of seeing that my gray uniform had been of service again. It 
saved my bacon that day, sure. 

It seemed, in my nervousness, that the boys would never get 
ready to leave camp for town. When I learned the delay was caused 
by some disappointment about securing enough horses for all who 
wanted to go along, I urged with much earnestness that horses would 
only be an encumbrance—that we could easily walk and have more 
fun if not encumbered with their care. They abandoned them 
reluctuntly, as a Texan thinks he can not go a square without a 
horse. We all started off at last, light-footed. There was not one 
of that crowd of hearty boys who walked out of that camp in the 
gloaming of that Sunday evening who suspected my true character. 
My heart was heavy enough as I walked along with them, brooding 
inwardly over the troubles which I saw must result from this Sun¬ 
day visit; but my feet were light, and I verily believe^ that I could 
have double-quicked it all night in almost any direction that would 
lead me away from there. 

I dared not take any of these boys to our Maryland Battery and 
introduce them to my friends there, who knew me as a different per 
son. They were, for this time, only expecting to put in a night 


TEE BOY SPY. 


28b 

skylarking in Richmond, but I knew very well the time would come 
—very soon, too—when I must expect a return visit from them. I 
realized, too, that in the meantime my old enemy, Davy Crockett, 
would keep stirring up the two boys who had been only temporarily 
put down; and if the Captain could hear of their story, and be made 
to believe that I was playing double with them, it would surely 
awaken his Pensacola recollections and direct his attention to me. 
So I did not want to see anybody from Texas any more. 

In attempting two different characters on the one day, in Rich¬ 
mond, I ran a foolish risk, and had probably stirred up an investiga¬ 
tion that would be fatal to me. This was about the situation of 
affairs on this Sunday evening, when I was actually reckless enough 
to risk again mixing myself up, by acting as a guide or cicerone to 
a party of Rebel soldiers about their own Capital at night for fun. 
Notwithstanding the previous encounters, I enjoyed the night off 
fully as much as any of the boys of the crowd. 

I was somewhat heavy-hearted when we first left the Texas 
camp, but the hearty, joyous, unsuspecting behavior of the crowd 
had the effect of reassuring me, as it were ; and seeing that they, at 
least, would stand by me in their own camp, I entered with them 
into the spirit of the fun in such a way that I am surprised at 
myself when I think of it now. 

We walked into town over what is known as Church Hill, above 
Rockett’s, on the road leading out to Seven Pines and Fair Oaks. 

It was about dark when we reached the colored settlement in 
the outskirts, and, as we began the descent of the long hill (the 
same on which the colored troops first entered Richmond in 1865), 
we heard the church bells of the city. There is, in many souls 
like my own, a sympathy with sounds of this character. In 
our crowd was the doctor, an educated as well as a polished gen¬ 
tleman and scholar. When the tones reached his ear he stopped, 
lifted his hat reverently as he stood on the sidewalk, and recited in 
a manner that so impressed me that I shall never forget thes^ 
words: 

“ Hist! When the church bells chime, 

’Tis Angels music.” 

Some of the boys, inclined to poke fun at the doctor’s serious- 


THE BOY SPY. 


ness, to which in his absent-minded, thoughtful way, he responded* 
“Have you never been where bells have tolled to church?” 

He continued in this serious strain, while the jangle of the bells 
lasted; and as he and I were walking side by side, he kept pouring 
into my ear the beautiful thoughts about church-bells, home, and 
all its attendant happiness, that I began to feel quite homesick. 

‘ ‘ Those evening bells, those evening bells, 

How many a tale their music tells 
Of youth, and home, and that sweet time. 

When last I heard their soothing chime.” 

The doctor suggested that we all go to church, but seeing that 
his recommendation did not meet with a very eager second, he 
amended it by adding the word “first,” observing by way of 
explanation, that it would be a good way to put in the time for 
awhile. There were objections: one said he was an Episcopalian— 
their church did not have services at night; he was supported in 
this evasion by another who declared he was a Catholic. The doctor, 
appealing to me, asked if I were not an Episcopalian, too; I assented 
to it, when he mildly observed: 

“I thought so; you and the other Episcopalian swear and lie 
alike so superbly.” 

Of course the boys wanted to get into some of the “society” of 
Richmond, and, as I had been there during the winter season, they 
expected me to introduce them. 

I had entertained them about my experiences, which naturally 
aroused their curiosity, and excited their interest to learn more, 
and, perhaps, they desired to participate a little in the social enjoy¬ 
ments. 

There was a great deal of society in Richmond in the winter of 
1861, as I have said heretofore—people of all classes and all kinds 
were there in throngs, from every portion of the South, principally 
New Orleans, Baltimore, and other large cities. To my mind, 
unsophisticated as I was, there was but one—the beautiful little 
brunette, our Capitola—the Maryland slave. 

I had talked to these fellows about Capitola so much that I was 
urged in the most seductive way to permit them to make her 
acquaintance, on my account. That sort of talk was all very nice. 


THE BOY SPY. 


S87 


but it didn’t have exactly the desired effect. I’d been fooled that 
way once before, twice before-by being inveigled into introducing the 
Mississippi Lieutenant, who was anxious to see her on my account, 
and also who had cut me out entirely, on his own account. I didn’t 
tell the Texas fellows this part of the story, though. 

A spy who allows himself to get mixed up with a lady in his 
work, and loses his heart and parts with his judgment, is worse, 
decidedly worse, than one who loses his head with drink. 

Personally, I wanted very much to call on Capitola, and would 
have been delighted with the excuse that was offered to present my 

friends, but for the fact that she knew me only as Mr. B-, while 

my friends called me Mr. A-. 

In my eagerness to meet with her again, as I felt that now I 
must leave town, I was willing to take some risk. It was explained 
to the boys that I had assumed a fictitious name in my intercourse 
with Capitola, and, after giving them the blind, it was arranged that 
I should first see our enslaved beauty alone, and obtain her con¬ 
sent to present the Texans at her court that evening. 

A soldier will risk a good deal for the sake of meeting his girl, as 
we all know. It was with the earnest desire to accomplish the 
purpose of seeing my girl—just once more—to say “Good-by” 
forever, that I was willing to meet another danger. 

I saw Capitola alone, and nervously explained that a few of my 
Texan acquaintances, who had heard so much of her beauty and 
accomplishments, were clamorous for an opportunity to kneel at the 
feet of “Maryland.” I did not attempt to say a word for myself, 
because it was understood that, since the Mississippi Lieutenant had 
been paying his addresses to her, we were, all of us, entirely out of 
the question. This disagreeable fact did not, however, prevent the 
handsome girl from entertaining me in a heartily cordial manner 
• d uring my preliminary visit that evening in the interest of the other 
boys. 

I could not say “ Good-by,” because, don’t you see, I dare not tell 
anybody—not even my best girl—that I must go away; so I was 
denied even the poor satisfaction of a farewell with Capitola. 

I do not remember whether I have said so before in this narra- 
live, but, at the risk of a repetition, I will write down here what I 
believe to have been the truth—that Capitola was attracted more 


THE BOY SPY. 


by the Mississippi Lieutenants uniform and position than by his 
superior personal appearance. That »she became convinced that the 
blue-eyed and light-haired Maryland Corporal of Artillery was the 
most devoted of her lovers, if not as handsome as many others, I 
have every reason to know. 

It was pleasantly agreed that I should introduce to her my Texas 
friends. She, in her fascinating manner, considerately proposed to 
have with her one or two lady friends as her companions, who would 
help to pleasantly entertain my friends, the Texans, who were as 
she expressed it, “ Thousands of miles from their homes. ” 

While all these fascinating interviews were being held, I, like a 
love-sick boy, became wholly indifferent to the dangers and compli¬ 
cations which I was rapidly bringing about myself. 

I subsequently escorted mv three friends around to Capitokds res¬ 
idence on-street—I can not give the name of the street. I know 

the location very well, however, from frequent visits. It was pop- 
ularly known among us as “ Poplar Grove,” as it is the custom in 
Virginia to give names to residences. This was given to Capitola’s 
house, because one solitary and sickly Poplar shade tree stood 
before it. 

That we were pleasantly and cordially received by Capitola, goes 
without saying. She had, with bewitching taste and consideration, 
dressed herself for the occasion in her V Maryland, my Maryland,” 
robes, as nearly as she consistently could, and, of course, she looked 
to my eye more beautiful than ever. Not to my eye alone, either, 
as I saw at once that our boys were most favorably impressed, not 
only with her appearance, but by the ease and cordiality of her man¬ 
ner, which served, in some mysterious way, to make everybody feel 
so much at home in her presence. 

The doctor was particularly pleased—of all our crowd the most affa¬ 
ble and gentlemanly and winning in conversation, being able to sustain 
himself creditably in any company, he was; qf course, very soon at 
home, as we all found out to our sorrow. With him it was appar¬ 
ently a case of love at lirst sight—at least he tried to make Capitola 
think so. As I was out of the field myself, it was something of a 
gratification to me to see a prospect of some one of my friends being 
able to shove Lieutenant Claiborne off the stool. # Some such thought 
as this was in my mind when, to my utter consternation, a black ser- 



THE BOY SPY. 


vant announced to Capitola that “ Lieutenant Claiborne was at the 
door." 

Jumping "to my feet and rushing across the room to where Capi¬ 
tola was seated with the doctor, I begged her so earnestly" not to 
admit Lieutenant Claiborne that I suppose I made myself ridicu¬ 
lous. She misunderstood my motive; but, with her quiet tact, she 
said to me, laughingly : 

“ Why, of course. I will arrange that your company shall not 
be interrupted." 

She passed out to the hallway closing the door after her, 
while she held a consultation with some one, whom I knew to be my 
Lieutenant. If he had come into the room just then introductions 
would have ensued, and, of course, explanations must have fol¬ 
lowed ; and, as I have so often said in these sketches, if there was 
any one thing that I desired to avoid more than another, it was any 
necessity for “explanations." 

Capitola returned to the room, laughing heartily as the outside 
door closed with a bang, and saying to the doctor and the rest of us, 
as we rose to go . “ Oh, no ! seat yourselves and be at home here 

this evening." 

There was not a word of reference to the visitor on her part 
until, in my eagerness, I found an opportunity to ask quietly if she 
had told Claiborne who we were. 

“ Why, yes; I merely told him some of your friends had called 
by a previously arranged agreement to spend the evening." 

“What did he say?" 

“ Nothing at all, except that he would call later, and when I 
said that you would probably remain all the evening, he left me in 
a towering rage." 

Then she added, laughing heartily as she spoke: 

“Didn't you hear him slam the door?" 

I was safe for a little while longer, and, without caring 
what the next hour would develope, we proceeded to enjoy our¬ 
selves as freely as if we had nothing else to do, and not a fear to 
trouble us. 

How long we remained with Capitola and her one friend is not 
material. When we were ready to leave this pleasant society, it 
was discovered by some one that it was then too late to get home to 


290 


THE BOY SPY. 


camp, unless by running the gauntlet of the city guard and patrol, 
who lifted everybody’s pass after a certain hour. 

This annoyance was fully compensated for by the sympathy 
which the ladies expressed for us. When we were, after a good 
many failures, at last ready to say a final “Good-night,” all were 
made happy by pressing invitations to call again. 

I noticed then, and have not forgetten in these twenty-five years, 
that the doctor was the last to say “ Good-night” to Capitola; that he 
held her hand in his while he whispered, as he spoke in a low tone, 
some words that we did not hear, which seemed to amuse her 
immensely, as she only laughed in reply. 

My acquaintance with the city streets and the haunts of the 
patrol at night enabled me to steer the party safely up to my old 
hotel on the Square, where we engaged one room and two beds. The 
quartette went to bed, brit not to sleep. The doctor raved like a mad 
man about his agreeable evening in my company, and as his talk 
was altogether on the subject uppermost in my mind and heart, I 
enjoyed it as much as he did. We occupied the same bed, and 
before sleeping I detailed to him the whole story of Capitola, Clai¬ 
borne and myself, without giving myself away. 

I saw there was going to be trouble between the Doctor from 
Texas and the Lieutenant from Mississippi, on account of my Mary¬ 
land girl; just where I was to appear, or where I v r as to come out 
of this affair, did not concern me so much as the hope that, some¬ 
how or other, when these two would get to quarreling over Capi¬ 
tola, that it would result in neither of them obtaining her, and the 
end would come about—like it should in all good stories—that I 
would yet march into Richmond some day in a Federal officer’s uni¬ 
form and claim her by reason of my devotion, and convince her 
that I was as plucky as any of the Southern men, worthy of a Fed¬ 
eral officer’s uniform, and of her love, etc., etc. 

In the morning, after a hasty breakfast at the hotel, I escorted 
the boys down to Jeff Davis’ office, in hopes that we might get a 
chance to see him come down through the square. 

We were disappointed in this, as he had gotten in before we 
arrived. My companions were interested in having me point out 
to them some objects and persons of interest about the Capital, but 
the day v r as cold and dreary, compelling us to seperate early. 


THE BO Y SPY. 


29i 

The Texans were unaccustomed to the snow and slush of a Vir¬ 
ginia winter, which interfered so much with their enjoyment that day, 

I was the least bit uncertain about my status with our old Cap¬ 
tain, as I had overstayed my leave all night, especially as I knew 
that Claiborne would be sure to let him know that I was in the city 
that night. 

With the return of blue Monday morning, while out of sight of 
Capitola and away from the Texas boys, my small supply of common 
sense began to assert itself, and I saw that I was not only standing 
on a scaffold but the rope was about my neck. That something 
must be done at once was evident to the dullest sense. While ponder¬ 
ing over what must be done, what might be the best course to pur¬ 
sue, having made up my mind not to return to the company at all, 
but to add desertion of the Rebel cause to the probable charges and 
specifications against me, by making a desperate effort to get North, 
that night, I was hailed on the street by the Captain himself, 
who inquired rather savagely : 

“ Where in hell have you been ? ” 

He interrupted my explanations abruptly by saying : 

“We have orders to march, and all hands are getting ready; 
you go right out and pack up the papers.” 

This was news—good news, I thought—and, saying as much to 
the Captain, I ventured to ask if we were to go to Manassas. 

“No, no; there is enough up there doing nothing; we are to go 
down to hunt for those damned Tennessee Unionists that are burn¬ 
ing bridges.” 

This wasn’t so satisfactory, but I was glad to hear that we were to 
leave Richmond at once, and I hastened to Camp Lee. Here I found 
everybody packing up, everything was in commotion, and I entered 
with zest into the preparation to leave Camp Lee. 

Lieutenant Claiborne and one section of the battery were to 
remain in Richmond. 

It appears that a sudden demand had been made on the Rebel 
War Department for troops to protect the railroad bridges in East 
Tennessee, and as our old Captain happened to be on good terms 
with the Secretary, he volunteered his company for this service, 
temporarily, as the Government seemed unable to supply them with 
guns to take to the field at Manassas. 


So it happened that, on the evening of the same day, in company 
with the Colonel and Lanyard, we carried our bundle down street, 
stopped a moment at the familiar old restaurant to taste apple-jack 
once more, and, without an opportunity to say “ Good-by” to Cap- 
itola, we spent the night on the railroad train, reaching some town 
for an early breakfast. 

I had taken the precaution to drop in to see Colonel Jones, who 
had oversight of the mail service to the North as well as the gen¬ 
eral exchange of prisoners, and left with him a brief cipher dispatch 
for my friends North, explaining my change of base from Rich¬ 
mond ; also, a note to some Texas friends, telling them our 
command had been ordered to Manassas, and expressing a hope to 
meet them there soon. I had been careful enough not to designate 
the battery explicitly or to name the officers. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


MARYLAND “ REFUGEES 99 — COERCING INTO THE UNION EAST 
TENNESSEE “ REFUGEES ”—PARSON BROWNLOW INTERVIEWED 

-A HAPPY EXPERIENCE WITH MAGGIE CRAIG — THE BATTLE 

OF MILL SPRING — FIRST UNION VICTORY AS SEEN I ROM 
INSIDE THE REBEL ARMY. 

I reluctantly take the reader away from the Rebel Capital and 
its attractions. I was leaving Richmond at least, somewhat against 
my own inclination. 

While lying curled up in a seat in the old emigrant car, that was 
being used to transport the troops, sleeping, and, perhaps, dream¬ 
ing of “the girl I left behind me,” I was roughly awakened by a 
sharp bump on the end of our train that sent me bouncing olf the 
seat against the back of the one in front. When I hurriedly 
picked myself up and looked around me wildly, I realized that 
something had happened; and, as everybody else seemed to be 
rushing to the doors and windows, I made a reckless break in the 
same direction, but before I could get into the aisle of the car the 
floor of our car in the vicinity of where I was standing seemed to 
rise up suddenly. In the same instant I found that something had 
caught me by the left leg near my knee, which held me as in a vise. 
In my desperate struggles to extricate myself, I threw myself vio¬ 
lently backward, my head striking the iron corner of an adjoining 
seat. I succeeded in breaking loose, but only after the car had 
come to a stop, and the danger was all past. 

It was only a run-off, that caused the truck under our car to 
turn and twist itself upside down in such a way as to force part of 
the woodwork through the floor, resulting in squeezing my leg 
against the seat, so that it cut deeply into the flesh and left a mark big 
enough to entitle me to a pension—when the Rebel soldiers get their 
turn. 

This happened near a little town located close upon the Virginia 
and East Tennessee line, named I think, Abington. We laid off 
there to repair damages-—to the railroad. None of us were hurt 


THE BOT SPY. 


294 

seriously enough, to require more than a patching up, which our pri¬ 
vate surgeon was competent to do. The accident, however, gave 
me an opportunity to meet, for the first time in many months, some¬ 
thing that was pretty scarce in the Eastern part of Virginia at that 
time, namely—an outspoken Union man, who was also a native of 
Virginia. 

When we learned that we should be delayed there until a couple 
of cars could be brought out to replace the broken ones, the Colo¬ 
nel and I concluded to strike out for ourselves, in search of some 
warm meals and perhaps a bed. With his assistance I limped along 
to a house standing some distance from the railroad track, where 
we applied for entertainment, offering pay for the same. 

A tall, lank man met us pleasantly at his gate, and to our prop¬ 
osition he replied in a cordial, though dignified, manner so foreign 
to his appearance and surroundings that I was surprised. 

“ If you young gentlemen will step inside my house, my wife, no 
doubt, will be pleased to entertain you.” 

Inside the large, old-fashioned country house, such as I had seen 
more frequently in Pennsylvania than in Virginia, we were intro¬ 
duced to “ Mother,” as a couple of young gentlemen who had been 
belated by the railroad mishap, and desired some warm food. 

I had been a soldier long enough then to understand, in a vague 
sort of a way, that the term “ gentleman ” was not properly applied to 
common soldiers, though we endeavored, by our conduct, to merit 
the title at this time. It was my zealous Rebel friend, the Colonel, 
who got into an argument with our host over the war question. 

It was brought about by something that was said during the 
natural inquiries that follow such meetings as to where we came 
from, etc., when the Colonel rather boastfully, perhaps, informed 
him that we were a band of exiles from Maryland. We had enjoyed 
so much homage on this score while in Richmond that it had become 
a second nature to us to expect it as a matter of course from all 
quarters, and when this West Virginia gentleman rather quizzingly 
observed: 

“Well, now. Mother, isn’t this remarkable. Here are some 
Maryland secessionists being sent away down here to Tennessee to 
punish and coerce Unionists?” 

It seems that this Unionist, who lived in what is now West Vir* 


THE BOY SPY. 


296 


ginia, was a member of the State Legislature, and who was also a 
citizen of some prominence, highly esteemed, and looked upon as 
one of the leaders of this band of Unionists that devotedly remained 
steadfastly loyal throughout the war. 

The general tenor of the conversation had the effect of reviving 
my interest, and served to stir anew my zeal for the cause. It also gave 
me a wonderful appetite for the old-fashioned, home-like meal that the 
good mother had been preparing for us, while the other fellows were 
talking. That I enjoyed the good, warm supper more than the 
Colonel, was evident to all the household, because he had permitted 
the talk to raise his choler so that he was scarcely in a suitable frame 
of mind to appreciate the kind attention of the lady. 

They declined our proffered, pay for the entertainment, which 
had so generously been furnished. As we were about to leave, and 
while the Colonel and the host were yet predicting, each in his own 
way, all sorts of terrible dangers, I could not resist the temptation, 
while saying “Good-by” to the old lady, to quietly whisper to her that 
I was heartily glad to have met with a Union family; that I was 
reminded of home very much by the visit, and I would soon be 
home, too. She was so surprised at my manner that she wasn't 
able to answer. 

What the Colonel got from the old man as a parting salute I 
don't know, only that it made him very cross and had the disagree¬ 
able effect of causing him to want to walk back to the train faster 
than I was able to keep up in my crippled condition. 

We passed through Greenville, in East Tennessee, which wag 
pointed out to us as the home of Senator Andy Johnson, of Ten, 
nessee. I should have liked to stop over here to have visited the 
residence and met some of the friends of Senator Johnson, who had 
been so much interested in my Southern experiences, but our train 
only remained a little while. We moved along slowly enough, stop¬ 
ping at what I thought must be every side-track on the road, to meet 
some trains that were due from the opposite direction, but which 
seemed never to come. 

The burning of several of the bridges by Unionists, or those 
who were charged with being Unionists, had put the railroad people 
all out of their regular reckoning, causing this general delay of the 
trains. 


596 


THE BOY SPY 


By reason of my rather close official and personal relations with 
the Captain of our company, I was enabled by some quiet question¬ 
ing to learn from him in advance of the rest of the boys that out 
destination was Knoxville, Tennessee, or, as he termed it in the 
military phases that we learned to use so aptly, “ Knoxville was to 
be our base of operations, but our objective point was probably 
Cumberland Gap, that being the nearest point of probable contact 
with the enemy.” 

I was very glad to learn that there was to be something that 
looked like a contact, because, now that I had left Richmond and 
Virginia, my entire purpose and aim was to get back home as quickly 
as possible, and they couldn’t “advance on the enemy” any too 
quickly for me. In thus coming down to Tennessee to get to Wash¬ 
ington, the old saying was realized in my case, that <<r The nearest 
way home often leads the farthest way round. ” 

We reached Knoxville on a cold, cheerless day. A crowd of Yan¬ 
kee troops could not have met with a more chilling reception in any 
town in the South than was accorded to the Maryland Refugee's 
Rebel Battery—both by the people and the weather. 

I had become rather accustomed, like the rest of the Maryland 
fellows, to expect complimentary observations on our self-sacrific • 
ing spirit, in exiling ourselves from our homes for the good of the 
Southern cause. We didn’t get any of this sort of taffy in East 
Tennessee. I thought I was the only man in the crowd who felt 
like resenting this “ outrageous treatment,” as they all felt it to be; 
but, as will be seen hereafter, there were others besides myself in this 
battery of Maryland refugees who secretly enjoyed the discomfiture 
of our officers and men at the hands of the Tennessee Unionists. 

To me it was most refreshing to meet with an outspoken 
Union man. Of course, they were—at this time—somewhat care* 
ful in their expressions of dissent to the Southern cause, but we all 
understood, in a general way, that those who were not outspoken in 
their sentiments for the South were opposed to secession and the 
war, and as the outspoken element was just then mighty scarce, the 
inference was that the majority was against us. 

Quarters had been provided for our crowd in what must have 
been a deserted old mansion house, which was situated—as nearly 
as I can remember—on a road near the outskirts of the town. I 


THE BOY SPY 


297 

think it was the Swan House. If the house is still there, I am sure 
1 will find it when 1 go clown there to revisit and renew some old 
but not forgotten friendships, and, perhaps, may be able to practici 
some amatuer photography on it and some of the “ scenes” whicl 
are related in this chapter, that I may supply some friendly reader 
hereafter. 

On account of the accident up the road, which had bruised me u? 
so that I was becoming quite lame and helpless, it was arranged tha 
I should find a private house in which to live until I could suffi 
ciently recuperate to stand the travel on horseback. 

It is likely that I was indebted to my constant friend’s (the Colo¬ 
nel) consideration for securing me comfortable quarters in the 
home of a refined family, who lived in that section of the town 
known, I think, as East Knoxville. The name was Craig. I am 
giving the correct names here, because I am desirous, even at this 
late dare, of acknowledging an indebtedness to this family for their 
many kindnesses to me, as well, also, that I may explain to them and 
the other residents of that city some of my actions that, at the 
time, must have been bewildering in the light they then had. If 
they have thought of me at ail since I was their guest in 18G1, the 
lapse of twenty-five years has not served to further enlighten them, 
and will be, at least, a gratification to them as well as to myself. 

Mr. Craig was an official at the County Court House, located in 
•the other end of the town—I think either the Prothonotory or 
County Clerk. He was rather an old gentleman at that time and 
is scarcely living now, but his family of accomplished daughters, 
who were then at home, if living, will no doubt recall their soldier 
guest of 1861. 

Mine host was one of those old-fashioned gentlemen, who was 
able to entertain a visitor handsomely without asking questions; it 
was understood that he was or, at least, had been a Union man. On 
this important question, at that time, he was the most agreeably non¬ 
committal mail in his own house of any person I have ever met. 
The wife and mother, like the father, was all attention and kindness 
to the needs of the poor soldiers, never stopping a moment to 
inquire whether they were of the North or the South. 

There was a daughter, Mary, who was decidedly and emphati¬ 
cally a warm-hearted “ Female Rebel.” An elder sister. Miss Mag- 


THE BOY SPY . 


S9S 

gie, whom I will only attempt to describe as a most amiable, sweet 
girl, with dark, wavy, auburn hair, was the Union girl of the family; 
though not as outspoken or decided in her way of expressing her¬ 
self, she was, nevertheless, settled in her conviction that the Gov¬ 
ernment was right and that slavery was wrong; and she put it, 
at the time, in a way that was comforting to me: 

“It’s not right; slavery is a sin and an evil, and it will not be 
permitted to exist.” 

Of course. Miss Maggie became a favorite with me during the 
week or two that I remained confined to the house by the bruises 
which had been so aggravated by the cold and neglect into some¬ 
thing that threatened serious results. She was the good angel of 
the family, and attended to my every need as if I were an only 
brother returned from the war to receive her nursing and tender 
care. 

There was also a younger sister, Laura, perhaps about twelve or 
fourteen years old, the little beauty of the family, with dark eyes 
and long, curling hair, whose political sentiments, sweetly and dis¬ 
dainfully expressed, agreed with those of the Rebel sister. All of 
the family were, however, kind and good, and, in the almost con¬ 
stant discussion of the merits of the two sides, not an unkind or 
harsh word was spoken of either. 

At every meal-time the old gentleman reverently asked a blessing 
over the table, and usually lengthened it into prayers for both sides. 

Around the corner from Mr. Craig’s house, on a lot that almost 
joined the Craig property, in the rear, was the house of Parson 
Brownlow. At the time of which I am writing Mr. Brownlow was 
achieving national reputation by his bold and defiant stand against 
the Southern leaders, and his outspoken, belligerent Union senti¬ 
ments had gotten him into all sorts of trouble with Jeff Davis’ Gov¬ 
ernment. 

I had heard of Parson Brownlow all my life, having been raised 
in a Methodist family. Before the war I had been much interested 
in his denominational discussions with the Baptists of Tennessee, 
the accounts of which were printed at the time. 

The Craig family were, I think. Baptists, and probably on this 
account they were, as Miss Craig politely put it, “Neighborly, but 
not intimate,” with the Brownlow family. 


THE BOY SPY . 


299 


It seemed as if the family had always been in hot water. There 
was a son, who had either killed somebody or been killed himself. 
Another boy was around stirring things up in a way that made the 
old town lively. The old gentleman owned and edited a paper— 
the Knoxville Whig —that circulated pretty much everywhere, and 
served to stir people and things up, not only in East Tennessee, but 
all over the country. 

At the time of which I am writing, the parson had been arrested, 
by order of the Rebel Government, for his outspoken Union senti¬ 
ments, and was a prisoner in his own house. 

I thought at the time of my visit that, personally, Mr. Brown- 
low and his family did not seem to receive much sympathy from his 
immediate neighbors, though politically the town was in full accord 
with his sentiments. 

The members of the family were, however, quite able to take 
care of themselves. They seemed to be entirely indifferent as to 
the opinions on the propriety of their course that other people 
might entertain. 

Mr. Brownlow himself was a rather tall, gaunt, smooth-faosd 
old gentleman ; just such an appearance as one would expect to find 
in the pioneer backwoods Methodist preacher of the Peter Cart¬ 
wright stamp. 

His smooth face, which was strongly marked, was rather expres¬ 
sionless, reminding one somewhat of an Indian. The cheek-bones 
were prominent, and his under lips protruded, which, with his 
touseled hair, gave him something of a belligerent air. 

I saw him frequently, and it always seemed to me as if his broad 
lower jaw snapped open and shut when he spoke, something like an 
automatic machine that one sees the ventriloquists working on the 
stage. On my youthful and inquisitive mind, at the time, was cre¬ 
ated the impression that he never spoke at all except to “jaw ,J 
somebody or something. Fm not attempting a criticism of Parson 
Brownlow. Everybody knows that every time 1] o opened his mouth 
he said something, and that his words to-day are quoted all over the 
land. It was his abrupt manner that seemed so odd and harsh to 
me, when compared with the mild, courteously-spoken words of the 
official and Unionist, Mr. Craig, my host—the two persons being so 
closely associated in my mind and observation daily. 


The home of Parson Brownlow was one of the plain, old-time 
structures that are to be met with by the hundred in every town of 
like size and character as Knoxville. It was situated in what would 
be called a back street; it was not so pretentious, but probably fully 
as comfortable as some of the houses on the front streets. 

Of course, there was a porch in front of the house extending 
over each side of the front door. The only difference in the style of 
architecture in this particular porch from all the others was, that 
on account of its abutting too closely on the pavement, or slab-stone 
walk, the steps led down from each side of the porch into the little 
front yard instead of stright in front on to the pavement. 

At the time of my visit there was another ornament or decora¬ 
tion to the Parson’s front door-steps that was not to be seen on the 
other houses, in the form of living statuary, representing Confeder¬ 
ate soldiers in gray uniforms, and with loaded muskets in their 
hands, who were on guard as sentries over the person of the Par¬ 
son, who was then a State prisoner. 

He was subsequently removed to jail and compelled to live in a 
damp disagreeable pen, that had been used for years as the slave- 
cage for runaway niggers. This was rough, but it’s true, as I can 
testify. 

One reason, perhaps, for his removal to the jail has not been 
given by himself or his friends. As I have said, the Brownlows 
were a peculiar people —“ devilish peculiar,” in fact. 

While we can all admire the pluck and spirit of the family, 
which resented the presence of armed Rebel soldiers on their own 
door step—their castle—one can not help but feel that a little dis¬ 
cretion, mixed up with their abundant spirit, would have brought 
out more satisfactory results. 

The Parson’s combativeness must have been in the blood of the 
family, as it was not confined to himself and his sons, but was exhib¬ 
ited while I was there,Un a striking manner, by one of his daugh 
ters. For some fancied or real offense on the part of one of the 
guards, who was stationed at her father’s door with a loaded gun 
m his hands, Miss Brownlow, after deliberately giving the soldier 
and his officer “a, piece of her mind,” coolly walked up to the 
guard and vigorously and repeatedly slapped him in the _face, and 
kept up her attack until the man actually backed down off the side 


THE BOY SPY. 


SOI 

of the porch, while the officer of the guard, who was with him, 
hastily scrambled down on the other side, leaving her in possession 
of the entrance to the castle. 

The incident had a wide-spread notoriety at the time, when the 
facts reached the North ; the affair was widely published through¬ 
out the country with many exaggerations. I did not witness this 
affair, but gathered from the Misses Craig and others what is prob¬ 
ably the true story. 

My confinement to the house of my good friends, the Craigs, 
though sick and sometimes suffering, was made to me the most 
agreeable two weeks of my trip South, all through the kind care and 
attention of the family. Miss Maggie and myself seemed to be 
nearest in accord in our sentiments, not only of the war, but maybe 
of love and peace and, through her pleasant friendship, I was 
enabled to lose, in a manner, some of my interest in the far-away 
Capitola. 

By the exercise of some diplomacy, necessitating a good deal of 
talking and some shameful lying to a young and innocent girl, I 
induced Miss Maggie and her sister to take me down to the Brown- 
low house, as a visitor who was desirous of meeting the now cele¬ 
brated family. 

I did not dare to intimate to Miss Maggie that I sympathized 
deeply with the cause of the Brownlows; in fact, I never admitted 
to a living soul, not one—not even after my return from my trips— 
the true character and purpose of the undertaking. An elder sis¬ 
ter, having some doubts about the Brownlows* probable reception of 
a visitor in a gray blouse uniform, thought it advisable to arrange 
the matter beforehand, and sent the little girl around to the house 
one day with a polite note, stating that a Maryland soldier desired 
the pleasure of their acquaintance. 

The mother looked with some disfavor on the proceeding, but, 
of course, Maggie and I accomplished our purpose, and the note was 
returned with a verbal answer to “ Come ahead.** This was not 
exactly as encouraging a response as we had hoped for, but, after a 
little fun from the mother and older sister over our propable recep¬ 
tion, they arranged among themselves for a short call during the 
afternoon. 

I was gathering information; and, feeling secure through my 


THE BOY STY. 


SOS 

supposed sympathy with Mr. Brownlow, I had not the least hesi¬ 
tancy about meeting him personally; I did not consider the family 
failings at all. I knew, too, that I should soon leave there for home— 
my mind was already settled on that—and I could travel now with¬ 
out the fear of meeting any persons who had known me at Manasses,' 
Richmond, or Pensacola. My plans were to reach the Union lines 
at the nearest point, which was then Cumberland Gap 

As I have tried to explain, the Brownlows* residence was just 
around the corner, so that it was like a neighborly “ run in for a 
little while ” for the Misses Craig to escort their guest around to 
their house that afternoon. 

The Parson being a prisoner in his own house, hie guard was 
under strict orders not to permit any communication between the 
imprisoned, fighting preacher and his Union friends. 

To make this military order thoroughly effective, the officer of 
the guard had found that it was necessary to make it general, so as 
to exclude everybody, as it was well seen that the population were 
almost unanimously loyal, the visitors to the Brownlow family were 
most likely to be enemies to the Rebel Government, or, at least. 
Unionist suspects. 

When we reached the door, where we encountered the guard, 
Miss Craig left to me the task of overcoming the obstruction of a 
loaded musket in the hands of a soldier in gray. I am not sure 
whether it was the shameful lies I told the guard, the gray uniform 
I was wearing, or the pleasant, smiling face of my companion that 
had the effect of inducing the man in charge so suddenly to change, 
yield and admit us into 'the house without question. But I have 
always inclined to the belief that the influence was the large, 
imploring, brown eyes of my lady companion, which were brought to 
bear on the guard. I remember that' we had some talk after the 
visit closed about this guard, who kept his eyes more closely on 
Miss Maggie, during our visit, than either on the prisoner or the 
other surroundings. 

Once over the threshold, we had yet to encounter the old lion in 
his den, or, more properly speaking, the wounded bear in his hole. 

The weather was so cold that a fire was necessary, which fact 
was impressed on my mind by our introduction into the Parson^ 
presence, his first salution being a request to “shut the door,” and 


THE BOY IjPY. 


SOS 


then at once apologizing in a mild, apologetic manner; he complained 
of the rough usage he had been obliged to submit to in his own 
house, by the guard insisting upon opening doors through his hall 
whenever they saw fit. He, and more especially his wife, imagined 
they did more of this than was necessary, for the sole purpose of 
annoying him. Mrs. Brown!ow insisted that the purpose of the 
soldiers was to kill her husband by exposing him to these draughts 
during his illness. 

The Parson had been quite seriously ill for some time. The sick¬ 
ness was incurred by his terrible exposures, first while an outcast or 
exile in the mountains, and, subsequently by the miserably mean 
and hoggish treatment while confined in the Knoxville slave-pen 
cage among the crowded Unionists. 

The complete story of the imprisonment, sufferings and brutal 
treatment of the hundreds of Unionists, among whom were some 
old men of seventy-five years; embracing in the list of martyrs, 
preachers, lawyers, judges, as well as others of the most prominent 
and respectable people of that section, simply because they were 
Unionists—or had dared to be loyal to the Government, or even 
entertained at a remote period an opinion on the subject different 
from that of the Rebel—would excel in many respects the horrors 
of Andersonville. I regret that I can not in this narrative tell half 
of my own observation, but perhaps some one will yet write the true 
story of East Tennessee in 1861-62. 

While I was there as a Rebel soldier, I witnessed one sight alone, 
not one horrible feature of which has been effaced from my memory, 
and which has not—that I can recall—been made generally public. 
I refer to the double execution of an old man of seventy, a respected 
class-leader in the Methodist Church, and his son. The old man was 
obliged to hear first the dreadful shrieks of innocent protest from 
his son’s lips, and though the boy’s cries pierced even the hearts of 
the New Orleans wharf-rats, who had the execution in charge, the 
old man was brutally compelled by Colonel Ledbetter to gaze upon 
the dreadful, horrible agony of his son on the scaffold, where he 
himself was to be hung in a few moments. 

At the time of our visit, Brother Brownlow was snugly wrapped 
up in one of those old-fashioned, striped shawls, that probably 
belonged to his wife’s wardrobe. He sat that afternoon in a great. 


sot 


THE BOY SPY. 


old, hickory rocking-chair, with his stocking feet perched on 
another chair, looking at me, at first sight, more like a sick old 
woman than such a dangerous character as to require the constant 
attendance of a large armed guard at his door, day and night. 
His face was thin, and his general appearance of emaciation showed 
the effects of his recent sickness and sufferings. I can well recall 
the queer expression of wondering scrutiny in the big eyes of the 
old Parson, as he slowly turned to me when I was introduced by his 
neighbor’s daughter as a “refugee” soldier from Maryland. That 
he was a little bit suspicious as to the object of this visit under such 
circumstances is not to be wondered at, when his surroundings at 
the time are remembered. 

As a consequence, perhaps, Mr. Brownlow was not inclined to 
talk to me, more than the ordinary politeness to a stranger in his 
own house demanded. The Parson’s wife and daughter, however, 
who were present, did not seem to entertain any doubts or fears as 
to any danger to be apprehended, as they kept up a constant clatter 
with Miss Maggie about the outrageous treatment they were being 
subjected to. 

To my own surprise afterward, as well as theirs at the time, I 
blurted, involuntarily, out some genuine expressions of sympathy 
for them, when Miss Brownlow detailed how the brute. Colonel 
Ledbetter, had, without ceremony of a request, rudely entered the 
sick man’s chamber, demanding that “this *assumed’ sick man 
set an hour when he would be ready to leave town.” This, at a 
time when Mr. Brownlow was not able to lift his head from the 
pillow of the bed, to which he was then confined. On this rather 
premature outbreak on my part. Miss Maggie took occasion to say 
to the family: 

“I’m sure our friend is not a very bad Rebel; he is pretty home¬ 
sick, already.” 

This latter observation seemed to rouse the Parson’s interest in 
the visit, and turning to me, in a voice almost inaudible from weak¬ 
ness, he said: 

“ I should be glad to know what induced a Maryland boy to 
leave his home for this Secession cause.” 

Just what I replied must be left to the imagination. I don’t 
remember myself, only that I went a$ far as I dared, and said in 































































































































































































































































































































i 


\ 
























* 






THE BOY SPY. 


305 


manner—if not in words—that I was going back home. Something 
was said, either by Miss Maggie or myself, as to the opinions we 
both quietly entertained that slavery was wrong and was at the bot¬ 
tom of it all, which seemed to stir the old man up in a way that 
astonished me. I don’t remember his exact words, but if there is 
any one thing that Parson Brownlow could do better than another 
it was to pile up epithets. 

“No,” he said, raising his voice to a half-shriek; “ it’s not 
slavery. I am a slave-owner myself, and I am a Union man,” and then 
continuing in a strain of abusive words, directed to the leaders, 
which would read something like thi? : “ Any man who says I am 

a Black Bepublican or an Abolitionist is a liar and a scoundrel,” 
getting more excited as he continued : “ It’s these God-forsaken, 

white-livered leaders, who are liell-deserving assassins.” 

Ilis family seemed so accustomed to this sort of talk that they 
took but little note of what the Parson was saying; it scarcely had 
the effect of stopping their own flow of complaint about the guards. 

Mrs. Brownlow said to her husband in a quiet way not to allow 
himself to become excited, on account of his weakness, and with a 
mild hint added that he might be overheard. 

“I take back nothing I have ever said : they are corrupt, unprin¬ 
cipled villains; if they want satisfaction out of me for what I have 
sa id—and it has been no little—they can find me here any day of 
life, right where I have lived and preached for thirty years.” 

There was one remark which the old man made that afternoon 
which I have never forgotten. Mrs. Brownlow had been telling 
about the dirt the Rebel guards made in her hall, with their tobacco, 
as well as the noise incident to the changing of the guard every two 
hours, and their rude intrusion into the bed-room at all hours—to 
get warm, they said. The Parson in an undertone, as if exhausted 
by his previous outburst, said: 

“ They are worse than weeds in the garden, and exactly like 
fleas out in my hog-pen there;” stopping for breath, he kept on: 
“ Why, they play cards on my front porch on Sunday, and I, a 
preacher, have to hear their oaths in my house, that would blister 
the lips of a sailor.” 

When I laughed at this a little, he growled out: 

“ Oh those cowardly assassins, who disarm women and children, 


THE BOY SPY. 


306 

and set bloodhounds after their fathers and grandfathers, who are 
hiding from their persecution in the Smoky mountains in this 
winter weather, have the meanness, without the courage, to do any¬ 
thing." 

I was entertained that afternoon in a way that made such an 
impression on my mind that I shall never forget even a single 
striking point that occurred, and the reader is referred to the files 
of the Cincinnati papers of the winter of 1862 for an account of 
this interview, which, as a war correspondent, I reported j at that 
time. Once the Parson got fairly started, the rest of flie party 
became interested as well as amused listeners. When he would run 
down a little, something would be said that would seem to wind him 
up again, and he would go off like a clock without a pendulum or 
balance wheel. Something was said about the geographical or com¬ 
mercial effect of the proposed separation of the South from the 
North. 1 think I must have said something to lead up to this, as 
the Parson turning to me, said, while pointing his long, bony finger 
toward me: 

“ Young man, it can never be done.” 

And, by way of illustration, he continued in an impressive and 
intensely dramatic way: 

“ This Union will be dissolved only when the sun shines at mid¬ 
night, or when water flows up stream.” 

Some one interrupted to say, laughingly : 

“ Why, the sun is shining at midnight at this moment in the 
other part of the world.” 

And his own daughter chimed in : 

“ Yes, and our teacher says the Mississippi does run up North 
in its tortuous course.” 

This created a little laugh at his expense. But, without notic¬ 
ing it or smiling himself—by the way, he was so dreadfully solemn 
looking—I doubt if he ever smiled—lie got back on them by saying: 

“ Well, it will happen only when Democrats lose their inclina¬ 
tion to steal.” 

After the laugh over this had subsided, he became eloquent as 
well as emphatic: 

“ And that will be when the damned spirits in hell swap for 
heaven with the angels, and play cards for mean whisky.” 


“ «ET UP. FSBE- 


OU DAMNED OLD TRAITOR," 


/* 











































\ 



TITE BOY SPY. 


$07. 

That’s exactly the sort of a man Parson Brownlow was to talk; 
and we all know that he acted out his words to the bitter end. Then, 
by way of personal application, the parson said : 

“ I am not only a Tennessee Union man of the Jackson and 
Andy Johnson stripe, but I’m a native of Virginia. My ancestors 
fought for the Union in the Ke volutionary War, and their descend- 
ents have fought to preserve it in every war since. This country is 
as loyal as any State in the North.” 

Mr. Brownlow’s astonishing way of putting things was impressed 
on my mind, by his apt way of illustrating the dependence of the 
South upon the North, in his argument to show that disunion was 
not practicable. 

“ Why,” he said, “ we are indebted to the North for every¬ 
thing.” While he was speaking he held a pocket-knife in his hand; 
holding it up he said : 

“ This knife comes from the North; the hats and clothes we wear, 
the shoes on our feet, every piece of furniture in this room,” and, 
pointing to an adjoining room, where one of the ladies was quietly 
engaged in preparing the tea-table for our entertainment, ‘‘ the ware 
on that table, out there; and the farmer gets all the tools North 
to work the farm that supplies the food we eat.” Then with an 
expression of disgust: “Even the spades that dig our graves, 
and the coffins we are buried in, come from the North.” 

Here Miss Maggie felt impelled to speak a word in defense of 
her native South, observing: 

“ But, Mr. Brownlow, they haven’t any better minds or people 
in the North; it’s only their educational facilities that give them 
this advantage.” 

This gave me an opportunity to say that “the North didn’t have 
any clearer heads than Mr. Brownlow’s, nor any sweeter ladies than 
I had seen in Tennessee.” 

The Parson didn’t even smile at this attempt at flattery, but 
kept on in the same strain, reciting some of his experiences while 
in the prison at Knoxville, only one or two of which I can recite. 

That which made the greatest impression on my mind was the 
interview of a young girl with her aged father the morning of the 
day set for his execution, as one of the bridge-burning conspirators. 
The Parson’s manner was at all times serious, but his story of the 


308 


TEE BOY SPY. 


heart-breaking farewell of the daughter to an aged father, and its 
effect upon the one hundred other suspects who were confined with 
him, and who were obliged to witness the scene, is beyond the 
powers of my pen to describe. 

The one redeeming feature of it was—the rough-talking Parson, 
acting in the character of a minister, endeavored to soothe the 
heart-broken daughter as he could in the most comforting words 
for an hour, alternately praying and talking, amid the sobs of the 
hardy mountaineers who were witnesses to it all. 

The Parson said it occurred to him, as a matter of policy, in 
order to separate them, and not with any hope of success, he sug¬ 
gested sending a message to Jeff Davis in the name of the daugh¬ 
ter, begging a pardon for her aged father—her only dependence in 
the world. The execution was to occur at 4 p. m., and he had pur¬ 
posely delayed mentioning this last hope that she might have all 
the time that was possible of the last hours with her father. It 
was 2 P. M. when he wrote with his pencil, on a leaf torn from his 
note book, a brief despatch addressed to Jeff Davis, craving his 
mercy and a pardon for her old father. The girl herself took it to 
the telegraph office, which was in the same square with the jail; the 
kind-hearted telegraphers interested themselves in her behalf, and 
rushed her message through to Richmond, not expecting a reply, 
as there was but an hour or so left; when, to the surprise and 
delight of every person, probably without an exception, a message 
was promptly returned by Mr. Davis commuting the sentence to 
imprisonment at Tuscaloosa during the war. 

I am glad to be able to record this fact in favor of Mr. Davis. 
I believe it may also be set down to his credit that much of the 
persecution of Unionists, and the brutal punishment of the same, 
was without his knowledge. It has been said that if Mr. Davis 
has been consistent in anything more than another, it has been in 
his life-long devotion to his principle of State rights or local self- 
government. Yet one has to wonder how his relentless atitude 
toward the coerced Unionists of East Tennessee is to be explained. 

In this way I was entertained by Mr. Brownlow, while his good 
wife and daughter were engaged in preparing an evening tea for us. 
When we were invited out to the table—I asked to be allowed to 
wash my hands, and was shown the toilet stand in the same room 


THE BOY SPY. 


309 


the Parson occupied. I picked up a brush to dress my hair a little— 
you know those pretty brown eyes of Miss Maggie were yet in the 
house, and I wanted to primp up while at the glass—the Parson 
looked over toward me, after indicating where I would find a comb, 
and said, without a smile: 

“The combs come from the North, too, and now, since the war, 
there wont be a fine-tooth comb to be had in the- South; ” then in an 
undertone to me: “The Rebels are full of squatter sovereigns 
hunting for their rights in the territories.” 

We sat down to the tea table without the Parson^s company, he 
being obliged to remain in his room, partly on account of his parole, 
but principally because he was just recovering from a serious illness, 
it being necessary to guard against a relapse, which would come 
from taking cold. 

He had done pretty much all the talking while we were in his 
company, and as we all knew he was in the habit of speaking right 
out in meeting without any regard to consequences, even before tha 
war, and the fact of there being an armed guard at his own door, 
as well as the presence of my gray uniform alongside of his, did not 
at all prevent his ready “ flow of language.” I do not imagine that 
he would have talked so freely, and in such a harsh criticizing way, 
in my presence had I not encouraged him to believe that I was a 
disappointed Marylander, while Miss Maggie added to this impres¬ 
sion by endorsing me as a homesick refugee. 

At the tea-table the ladies of the family did most of the talking. 

I kept my mouth occupied devouring some hot biscuit and honey, 
and drinking coffee with real cream in it, out of dainty old-fash¬ 
ioned tea-cups, while my eyes feasted on the sweet face and brown 
eyes of Miss Maggie. 

I had enough of the visit, and as soon as it could politely be 
done, we gave our host and hostess a pleasant “ Good-by.” 

After this visit to the Brownlow’s, where I had been permitted 
to witness, in one case, the effects of the dastardly treatment by a 
government of Rebels, who were advertising to the world that “they 
were contending only for their rights against the tyranny of the Lin¬ 
coln Government,” and heard from the lips of one who seemed to 
be a dying Unionist martyr, it may be imagined that I was in no 
frame of mind to dally any longer in the Rebel camps. 


310 


THE BOY SPY. 


I wanted to go home—I wanted to go badly—and I determined 
before I left the Parson’s house that evening that I should—unknown 
to him at the time—advise the authorities at Washington, and give 
to the Northern press a careful account of my interview with him. 
I did it, too, through the Cincinnati papers a few days subsequent 
to the interview as stated. 

I had gathered so much information since leaving Kichmond 
about the Union hopes and sufferings, and I felt so great a sympathy 
for them, that I was, to use a Vulgar term, “ slopping over.” There 
was now no chance to communicate with the North by mail from 
Tennessee—that I had yet got on to—as there had Deen in Rich¬ 
mond, and beside I was so full of news that it couldn’t be put on 
paper in the brief style which the simple cipher permitted me to 
use. 

We spent the evening after the tea at the Parson’s in the Craig 
family’s parlor, in a way highly enjoyable to me. I felt like a boy 
who had been absent from home for months, and who was being 
entertained at a farewell party in his honor. 

As I have said before, there were several ladies in the Craig 
family, all of whom were present that evening; in addition there 
was a Miss Rose Maynard, who was the daughter of the loyal Con¬ 
gressman from that district. Their residence was on one of the 
main streets of the town, and at the time of which I write the 
Hon. Mr. Maynard was exiled to Congress at Washington. I will 
state here that I met him on my return to Washington, a few days 
later, when I gave him the latest news of his family. 

Among the gentlemen present was a Mr. Buchanan, who was a 
Confederate soldier then stationed at Knoxville. He was, I think, 
the son of a Buchanan who had been a Minister to the Netherlands, 
under the former Democratic Administration. I mention him here, 
on account of his having been more recently from Washington than 
myself. I was able to gather from his talk to the ladies, in a general 
way, that he had in some way been acting as a sort of a spy for 
the Rebels; at least he had been in communication with those 
who were so engaged, and it was through his boastful talk of his 
family connections that I secured one of the most important secrets 
of my mission. 

I .will do Mr. Buchanan the justice and credit to say that he 


THE BOY SPY. 


was an accomplished young gentleman. He had been abroad with 
his parents, or perhaps it was an uncle, and being raised, as it were, 
in the diplomatic world, he was, of course, able to conduct himself 
in a becoming way in the society of ladies. Indeed, he seemed to 
completely eclipse me for that evening with these ladies, but I was 
so filled with homesickness just then that I did not care so very 
much about it. One of Mr. Buchanan’s happy accomplishments 
was his ability to recite, in what we all felt to be a perfectly 
delightful way, Poe’s and Byron’s poetry. Somebody had learned 
of his talent in this direction, so we kept the young fellow “going” 
right along. 

Only one of his recitations remain in my memory, that of 
“Annabel Lee”; indeed, and in truth, I may say now with him, that 
“ The stars never rise, but I see the bright eyes ” of Miss Maggie, 
who seemed to be so much infatuated with him. 

The younger Miss Craig and Buchanan were of the same mind- 
on the war question. My gray uniform talked for me, while Miss 
Maggie, to my great delight, amused the parlor full of company 
with a ludicrous account of the battle of Mill Spring, or Fishing 
Creek, given her and her friend, by the Rebel troops from that sec¬ 
tion, who had participated in it. 

It will be remembered that this little fight was one of the first, 
if not the very first, Union victory in the West. Zollicofier was 
killed, and the Rebels retreated in the very worst disorder as far to 
the rear as Knoxville, Tennessee, over a hundred miles from the 
battle-field. 

Miss Maggie told the story in her delightful way, appealing, as 
she went along to her Rebel sister, and others who were opposed to 
her side for confirmation as eye-witnesses to the ludicrous appear¬ 
ance of the Rebel soldiers as they rode back to town on mules—in 
their dirty, ragged clothes, many of them hatless, and sometimes 
two or three on one old mule. 

To make it more interesting, she related, as a preliminary, now 
the gallant Secessionists had marched out of town but a few days 
before with a whoop and a hurrah, she declaring: “ She felt sure 

those men would go straight through to Boston, and bring Lincoln 
back as they returned via Washington.” The father, who had been 
quietly sitting back in the corner, enjoying Maggie’s fun at her 


THE BOY SPY. 


SIS 

sister’s and Mr. Buchanan’s expense, broke nis silence to add 
drily: 

“ Mr. Brownlow says, when they saw the Stars and Stripes and 
looked into the muzzles of the Union guns, they started to run, and 
didn’t stop ’till they got to the other side of sundown.” 

If there are any readers of the Western armies who participated 
in Mill Spring or Fishing Creek, I can assure them that their little 
victory that day was a great God-send to thousands of the noblest- 
hearted Unionists of East Tennessee, who, from their hiding-places 
in the rocks and crevices of the mountains, saw the boastful Rebels 
run like wild sheep a hundred miles without stopping. 

There was a piano in the parlor, as well as three or four persons 
who were able to spank it right well, so, between the recitations of 
our poet and the droll stories by Miss Maggie about the Rebels run 
back to town, we enjoyed a pleasant evening together, which will 
long be remembered by me as one of the many agreeable nights of 
my varied war experience. 

One little story related by Mr. Craig, later in the evening, 
served to throw a mantle of caution about me, else I might have 
been tempted, under the jolly feeling existing among the company, 
and the influence in my own mind, as it was to be my last night, to 
make some “Union confessions” to Miss Maggie in confidence. 
Mr. Craig said in his slow, quiet way: 

“ There was a .funny affair happened up-town to-day. You 
know there has been a daily prayer-meeting for some time which 
has been conducted here by the several ministers of the different 
churches, alternately. They have all along a little sign printed on 
card-board tacked against the wall, reading Union prayer-meet¬ 
ing; all are welcome.’ Well,” he continued, with a sly laugh: 
“There was a Georgia regiment came in here to-day from Pensa¬ 
cola, and a lot of them got too much whisky aboard, and seeing this 
sign. Union prayer-meeting house, and probably having heard of 
the Unionists of East Tennessee, served to raise their bad blood at 
once, and for a while came near causing a small riot, until the mat¬ 
ter was explained.” 

“Some who were too drunk or ignorant to be made to see that 
the word f Union’was not always to be considered offensive to a 
Southern man, would not be satisfied until tlm card was removed.” 


THE BOY SPY, 


81$ 

This little play of the Georgia regiment on the word “ Union*” 
which serves to show the sentiment and feeling then, afforded this 
company some amusement, but to me, the one word “ Pensacola” 
was far more significant than any other that Mr. Craig had spoken. 

There was then a regiment in town from Pensacola. That town, 
nor any other, was big enough to hold me, at the same time, with 
anybody that had been to Pensacola. So that here was another 
inducement for me to get away toward home. 

After leaving Eichmond and the Texans in the lurch as to my 
whereabouts and destination, I had felt that in the mountains of 
East Tennessee I would be at least secure from any possible 
re-union with any former Pensacola or Fort Pickens associates, 
but it seemed as if this Florida experience, like Hamlet's ghost, 
would not down. 

When we came away from Eichmond so hurriedly, it will be 
remembered that Lieutenant Claiborne with a portion of our Bat¬ 
tery had been left in Camp Lee. , If I remember aright, they were 
either to recruit or perhaps they were to await the arrival of some 
English cannon which were expected via the blockade, and in that 
case it was probably the intention to order us back there, to be sent 
as a solid Battery to Johnston's army in Virginia. 

I was the least fit apprehensive, too, after I had been away some 
days, and had leisure to think over the matter more carefully, that 
Claiborne might in some way run across the Doctor through their 
mutual admiration of Capitola. 

As I was “only a boy,”' as Capitola had so heartlessly said, I 
had been obliged to sorrowfully leave the Doctor and the Lieutenant 
to fight over Capitola among themselves, never thinking or caring 
much, at the time whether I should become mixed up any further 
or not. 


CHAPTER XXIT. 


CRUELTY OF GENERAL ' LEDBETTER—ANOTHER NARROW ESCAPE— 

ORDERED TO CUMBERLAND GAP—A WEARISOME J OURNEY— 

ARRIVED AT THE GAP—T^E STOLEN LETTER—ALONE IN THE 

DARKNESS—THE NORTH STAR—DAY DAWN. 

Most of the time in Knoxville I was sick and confined to the 
house, under the kind care of Mrs. Craig’s family. Our company 
of Maryland Artillery, after a time, had been ordered away to Cum¬ 
berland Gap, where they were to manage, if necessary, one or tAvo 
old iron cannon that had been secured someAvhere for them. Part 
of the refugees were left at Knoxville as part of the guard at Par¬ 
son BrownloAv’s house. For this duty those were selected who had 
been sick, or who Avere thought to be “inefficient” for active field 
duty. I Avas among the number so detailed, because I certainly was 
the most “inefficient” Rebel soldier you ever saw or read about. 

It will be remembered that in the opening chapter, Avhile I Avas 
in Washington before the Avar began, I Avas accidentally, or, per¬ 
haps, providentially, introduced to Senator Andy Johnson through 
one of Senator WigfalPs Comanche Indian breaks in the Senate. 

I flatter myself that the evidence I gave then —before Mr. Lin¬ 
coln was inaugurated—shows that the great conspiracy Avas going 
on while the conspirators themselves Avere yet in the service of the 
Government, and under oath to support the same—therefore ; t Avas 
a “conspiracy.” 

This acquaintance Avith Mr. Johnson was re-called one day while 
in East Tennessee. 

Mr. Craig said something one day about some letters that Mr. 
Johnson Avas charged with having Avritten to some Abolitionist in 
Boston, proposing, or, in some way that I do not exactly recall, 
admitting that, for a certain large sum of money, he (Johnson) 
would use his influence in favor of the Union. 

If Mr. Craig had any opinion as to the truth or falsity of the 
matter, he Avas careful not to let me learn it. 


THE BOY SPY . 


Sid 

At the first opportunity, -in order to get an opinion from a man 
who was not at all slow in furnishing that cheap article, in season 
and out of season, I interviewed Mr. Brownlow about the Johnson 
bribery to bring him out. 

It brought the Parson out, and for a moment or two the air was 
thick with such elegent epithets as, “ Hell-deserving scoundrels, 
white-livered villians,” etc. 

“Tve not been on speaking terms with Johnson for thirty years, 
but I know its a lie. ” 

He was cautioned by his wife not to give expression to his views 
so freely. When I reminded them that the matter was public talk, 
and even printed throughout the South, the old fellow broke out in 
a new place: 

“ Oh yes, I know the Postmaster at Knoxville delivered the letters 
addressed to Johnson to a certain party here who is known to be in 
the employ of Wigfall of Texas." 

That was enough for me. I was prepared to believe that Wig- 
fall and his crowd would stoop to forgery, or anything else, to do a 
Southern Union man an injury. Wigfall was especially vindictive 
towords J ohnson, as will be remembered. 

If Brownlow had not been talking in the same strain to every¬ 
body about his Union sentiments, even while he was a prisoner, I 
should have felt from his free, out-spoken manner toward me, every 
time I met him, that, by some instinct, he knew of my true charac- 
acter as a Union Spy who was about to return Korth, and would 
carry his messages home. I have often thought that Mr. Brownlow 
did divine my true character. 

In this forged letter matter, if I am not greatly mistaken, Mr. 
Brownlow connected one of the present Senators from Tennessee, 
who was then Governor of the State. The Parson, in his odd way, 
had a name for everybody: Governor Isliain Harris, was Eye-Sham 
Harris. Everytime I have looked at Senator Harris since he has 
been in Washington, and I have seen him almost daily, I have had 
this queer expression brought to my mind. 

Rebel troops were being concentrated at Knoxville by railroad, 
to be marched thence to Cumberland and other gaps in the moun¬ 
tains. Something was up. Those who were on the Kentucky side 
about this time, will know more about what caused the eommo* 


THE BOY SPY . 


am 

tion than I who was on the inside, and could only “ guess," as the 
Yankees say. 

The General in command of the forces in East Tennessee at the 
time was E. Kirby Smith. He was, I believe, a distant relative of 
mine. 

Our Brigadier, and immediate commander, was General Led¬ 
better, a native of Maine, one of the meanest, most tyranical 
and brutal men I have ever heard of, in either the Rebel or the 
Union Armies, or any place .else. He had been an officer in the 
Regular Army before the War; and, as Parson Brownlow put it, 
“he had married a lot of niggers in the South." The Parson 
made this observation in the presence of his wife and the lady 
visitors who had accompanied me to the house one afternoon; 
though I did not exactly understand the drift of the expression at 
the time, I refrained from pressing the conversation just then. I 
learned afterward that he simply meant that Captain Ledbetter had 
married an Alabama lady, who owned sixteen slaves. 

This General Ledbetter, from the State of Maine, was the will¬ 
ing tool selected by the Rebel officials to punish and abuse the 
Unionists—very much as Wirz was permitted to do at Andersonville. 
If I write harshly of this officer it will be accepted as an excuse 
from me to explain that I saw him do a great many mean, acts, but 
that which turned my stomach worst were his roughly-spoken words 
to an old Unionist bridge-burner, a man with bushy, grey hair, 
who was at the time shrinking and cowering i: i a corner, looking at 
me with his frightened eyes like a crazy man at bay. His dis¬ 
tress was being caused by the dreadful shrieks of his son, at that 
moment on the scaffold, to which the old father was led in a few 
moments. 

“ Get up here, you damned old traitor," while he deliberately 
tied the rope around the trembling old man’s neck. 

It was a horrible, horrible sight—one that I shall never cease to 
remember. I wish it were possible for me to efface it from my mem¬ 
ory. 

After the delightful evening at the Craig’s, part of which I have 
tried to describe here, because there was a short, sweet interview at 
the garden gate after most of the guests had retired, in which the 
readers are not at all interested, I went to bed, determined in mv 

•r 


THE HOT SPY. 


317 


own mind that in the morning I should make the final break for 
home. 1 do not remember now whether I dreamed of the girl I 
was to leave behind me there, or that my visions were of “Home, 
bweet home.” Of course, it was cruel to be obliged to tear -myself 
away from them so ruthlessly, just when it was becoming interest¬ 
ing, but I consoled myself with the reflection that I had survived 
these heart-troubles before—several times. 

In the first place I had deliberately separated from my really and 
truly girl at my own home, when I joined Patterson’s army in 
Pennsylvania, but I had succeeded in finding another, in dark-eyed 
Capitola, at Richmond, who in turn had been almost forgotten, in 
the new-found treasure at Knoxville, from whom I was now to be 
estranged by the fortunes of war—perhaps forever. It was now 
time to return to the first love again ; and that’s the way it was 
“evolved” with me right along. I always managed to have a girl, 
to keep me from attending to business, and to get me into trouble, 
whether I was in the Rebel or Union armies, or lines. 

I was being “recuperated” so pleasantly, that I enjoyed playing 
off sick after I felt strong and active enough to have undertaken to 
walk right through Tennessee and Kentucky to my home. 

The greater part of our company being at Cumberland Gap, Cap¬ 
tain Latrobe was somewhere near Knoxville with General Ledbet¬ 
ter. I can not definitely recall exactly how it was—only that in 
order to reach him, to report for duty, it was necessary for me to 
go out of town some distance, where I found him in a camp at Led¬ 
better’s headquarters. 

I was a little out of favor with the Captain about this time. Ilis 
greeting was not calculated to make me feel exactly comfortable. 

“You are never on hand when wanted, but eternally scouting 
around some private houses, sick.” 

When I told him that I was now ready and anxious to join the 
company at the Gap, he took my breath away by saying: 

“You will be no use there.” 

Then, as if remembering something that he had forgotten, lie 
put his hand in his pocket, drawing out a package of letters, and 
as he fumbled them over, said: 

“Lieutenant Claiborne writes me something hereabout wanting 
you to go back to Richmond.” 


SIS THE BOY SPY. 

Luckily for me, lie wasn’t able to put his hand on the right 
letter at that moment, which gave me a little time to gather myself 
up, which I did with an ease that astonished myself afterward 
when I had a chance to laugh in my sleeve, as I thought to myself 
how perfectly natural it was becoming for me to tell a lie on so 
short notice. I said at Once in reply, as if by inspiration: 

“Oh, Captain, that’s probably those fellows I owe some money 
to, who want to get me into trouble.” 

He seemed to be satisfied with this explanation, and to my 
great relief, he put away the letters. 

Just what the letters from Richmond had to say about me I am 
unable to say, because I did not press the inquiry at that time. I 
left the Captain soon after the conversation (some twenty-five years 
ago) and have not had the pleasure of meeting him since. I had 
very decided impressions on the subject at that time, however, 
which were to the startling effect that some of those Texas fellows, 
whom I had run against in their camp near Richmond, not satisfied 
with my bluff reception of their overtures, had been hunting me up at 
our old camp. Either that, or Lieutenant Claiborne had met with the 
Texas Doctor at Capitola’s, where my double character would most 
likely have been discussed among them. In this one particular I 
should have preferred that Capitola had so far forgotten me as not 
to have mentioned my name again. 

You may imagine how eager I was for the opportunity to change 
the subject with the Captain, which seemed to present itself with 
my remark to him. He replied in what was intended to be rather a 
severe lecture on what he termed my “ fast and loose ” way of car¬ 
rying things on. I took his medicine quite meekly, and talked 
back only in a tone of sorrow and humiliation, taking good care to 
get in all sorts of rash promises to do better service for Maryland 
and the Confederacy, if he would only give me a chance by allow¬ 
ing me to go to the front. 

He was disposed to be skeptical, and I write down here Captain 
Latrobe’s exact words, spoken to me that morning in answer to 
my earnest appeal to be permitted to join the company at the Gap: 

“Well, Wilmore, you are no use here, and I don’t believe you 
will be up there, but I’ll see what I can do with you.” 

He turned to leave, directing tb»* I should “ hold on here awhile,” 


THE BOY SPY. 


319 

as he limped off toward General Ledbetter’s headquarters. I felt 
sure that he had gone there to consult with his superior officer about 
some disposition of myself; and I strongly suspected that the 
liinted-at requisition for me from Richmond had come through the 
military channels. 

Perhaps the reader may be able to imagine my thoughts and fears, 
or share my feelings for the few moments that I sat on the edge of 
the porch of the old log house that morning, waiting for the ver¬ 
dict, as it were. I rather incline to the belief though, that it is 
only those who have been under a sentence of death, or who are 
awaiting the result of a last appeal for a pardon, who will be com¬ 
petent to sympathize with me, or one who has been in such a 
plight. 

I was a long way from home, all alone — in a strange, I might 
say, a foreign land—among enemies; at liberty, but really with a 
rope around my neck ; a single misstep, or word, a chance recogni¬ 
tion, was all that was needed to spring the trap, and my career was 
ended ingloriously right there. 

I was filled, too, on this bright and beautiful morning with the 
bright hope and prospect of soon getting home; in fact, I was start¬ 
ing out homeward bound at this time; my reaching there depended 
in one sense upon the will of this Captain, who could have put me 
in arrest and confinement and, at least, have delayed my chances, 
or he could give me the orders, that would admit of my easy escape. 

The moments seemed like hours until the Captain made his 
appearance at the log-cabin door, where he stood for a few moments 
talking to an officer on General Ledbetter’s staff. I felt sure that 
I was the subject of their conversation, but like most persons who 
feel this way when their consciences trouble them, I was mistaken. 

Coming up to me, the Captain said, in a cheerful tone, as com¬ 
pared with the first remark to me: 

“ Corporal, could you find the Gap, if we—” so eager and 
thankful was I, I abruptly interrupted him to say: “ Oh yes, I can 
easily do that.” 

“Well, its forty miles from here, over a most God-forsaken 
mountain path. ” 

I replied that I was used to the mountains and would easily find 
the place. 


TEE EOT SPY. 




“We want to send some papers up there for signatures. I am 
here at headquarters to-day to get our Muster Roll fixed up, and find 
that I have to send them hack again. We were going to get a couple 
of the natives to do the traveling, but, if you think you can get there, 
we will get you a horse and start you off right away. ’’ 

The Captain’s companion, the staff officer, seemed to be satisfied 
with my ability to undertake the journey, while the Captain him¬ 
self was rather pleased to see me show some enthusiasm, or a dis¬ 
position to “do something,” as he put it. 

He didn’t understand the motive at the time, hut I reckon he 
appreciated the feeling a little later on. 

So it was arranged, to my great delight, that I should start at 
once, as the roll of papers had been waiting for a chance messenger. 
The staff officer went to see some one in the rear about a horse. I 
was invited to follow them into the stable. A reliable old moun¬ 
tain climber was pointed out as the best thing for the trip. The 
details of the mount was left to the stable boss and myself. 

He told me she was used as a pack horse, for the staff officers : 
admitted that she might be old, but insisted that the climber was 
reliable. 

I wasn’t very particular—anything for a horse, a kingdom, or 
two kingdoms, so it would “ tote ” me up the mountain. I would 
have saddled up right away, bift the old farmer insisted on feeding, 
while we hunted around for a saddle and other tools. A bag was 
filled with oats, a haversack stuffed with one day’s rations for me, 
and I was ready to charge on the Yankees. Indeed, the old nag 
was choked off on her feed, so eager was I to get away. I got 
aboard at the stable door, found the old saddle-stirrups a mile too 
long for my short legs, and while the old fellow adjusted them, he 
laughingly said: 

“ Why, you go on jist like a boy.” 

I was a boy, and I was going home; but I was old enough to 
prevent older heads from finding out just how old I was. 

I rode around to the front, dismounted gayly, and reported to 
the Captain that I was ready. Then began another trouble. I 
received more “orders’’and “ directions ” in the next half hour 
than my wild head could contain, which resulted in my goingoff at 
last without explicit directions as t* + he route I was to take. 


THE EOT SPY. 


321 


The Captain gave me some letters for Lieutenant Elkton, who 
was in command of our detachment at the Gap, which he said I 
was to deliver personally. I assented cheerfully to all the instruc¬ 
tions, but when I had gotten off some time, and had cooled down a 
little, and had time to reflect, I concluded that I had better not be 
in a hufry to deliver that letter to our commanding officer. I 
“preserved” it carefully, however, so that it will be made public 
here for the first time. In addition to the numerons specifications 
that may be charged against me, I added that of robbing the Con¬ 
federate mail. 

As I look back over this mountain path, as it appeared to me 
then and remains in my memory, I wonder how it is that I ever 
got through with the journey alone so easily and safely. 

I am not going to attempt a description of the wonderful moun¬ 
tain scenery of East Tennessee. That has been done so well and so 
often that any who may read this will have seen the well-written 
accounts which appear in the magazines every now and then, or, per¬ 
haps, more elaborately done in numerous war stories, as well as in 
the later writings of Charles Egbert Craddock and Frances Hodgson 
Burnett. Besides, every man of the Western armies has hoofed 
it over the same old road I traveled that day, carrying with him 
a goodly assortment of family groceries and “forty rounds,” so 
that the impression on their minds will last as long as life remains, 
being as indelibly fixed as the everlasting hills themselves. 

I can see nothing but the great mountains, on each side of an 
awfully rocky road, that seemed ter me then to have been simply 
the dried-out beds of some streams that had refused to run to sup¬ 
ply the Rebels with water. On every side of me, as I traveled 
along over these mountain roads, was the dense growth of interm¬ 
inable laurel thickets. 

The country is of course, somewhat diversified in mountain and 
plain, but the general impression left with me is, that it was so 
much more mountain than plain that there was hardly enough 
plain for a wagon-road. 

After 1 had gotten some distance away, and was driving ahead 
as fast as the old horse would navigate over the rocky road, houses 
and farms began to grow smaller and beautifully less each mile. 
Every now and then we would plunge into a clearing, and find 


TEE BOT SPY. 


somewhere in a field of stumps a house—one of the small farm¬ 
houses where the roofs extend down and out over the front far 
enough to make a covering for a porch. On this porch one could 
almost always see some pumpkins rolled up in a corner, a saddle 
would be astride of the rough porch railing, a few dried provisions 
hung in the roof 'rafters overhead; one could always expect to find 
the lady of the house standing in the front door as he passed, and 
she was generally broad enough to fill the narrow space, so that 
only one or two heads would have room to peep out beside her, 
like young chickens under the old hen’s wings. I generally hunted 
the well at almost every house we came to, when I took great cool¬ 
ing drinks of water from a gourd dipper. 

These were the houses of the East Tennessee mountaineers. To 
describe one will answer for all. At the time of my travel among 
them, most of the men folks were away from home, either hiding 
among the rocks and gorges of the mountains from their persecu¬ 
tors, or, perhaps, having crossed the mountain, where they joined 
the Union Army, hoping soon to return to their homes as soldiers 
of the Government. There were six of these refugee Tennessee 
regiments as early as 1861-’62 in this part of the State, composed 
entirely of genuine, bona fide , Unionist refugees. I would like to 
record a comparison here with the refugees from Maryland in the 
Confederate Army at this time, both as to number and character. 

I had left headquarters so late in the day that it was too much 
for me to make the Gap the same night with that horse, over these 
roads. When I started out, though, I intended to do this or burst; 
but on toward evening, after several hours of rough riding, I began 
to find the road getting so blind, and the houses were becoming so 
scarce, that I feared getting lost in the mountain if night should 
overtake me beyond the settlement. 

So, early in the evening, when I reached the ford or crossing of 
a stream, the name of which I cannot now recall, I pulled up in 
front of a large house—for that country—and asked for a night’s 
shelter. My impression is that this was a sort of stopping place or 
the last relay house on the southern side of the Gap. I found accom¬ 
modation for both man and beast, and enjoyed a pleasant evening 
with the two old people on their front porch. I took it for granted 
that they were Unionists, though they had little to say on that sub- 


THE BOY SPY. 


328 

ject, but they both were so well pleased with my way of talking, 
and of the encouraging news for a ltebel soldier to bring, that I 
think the old woman exerted herself to make the biscuit extra light, 
as she put enough salaratus in them to color the whole batch of 
them with yellow spots. 

I was put to sleep in an attic room, and very early the next 
morning I was awake and dressed for the last ride. The old man 
had taken good care of the old horse during the night, feeding her 
on fodder, I reckon. When I got out from breakfast I found her 
tied to a tree down by the water. I mounted gayly. The old fellow 
gave me explicit directions as to the road to the Gap, which, he said, 
was in sight from the top of the hills. I bade him “ Good-by,” prom¬ 
ising to pay the bill on my return. I hadn’t a cent of money— 
besides, it was customary for the soldiers to live off the Unionists— 
so the old man was not much disappointed at not getting a fee, 
but I shall feel as if I owe them a dollar with interest for twenty- 
five years. 

I believe I rather rushed the old hoss for awhile that morning, 
because I was feeling so good over the prospect of getting away 
at last. 

Sure enough, I could see the Gap through a break in the trees 
and brush from the next hill-top, as the old man had said. I was 
surprised because it was so close to me, and disappointed in its 
appearance, as I had expected, from all that I had heard and read 
of Cumberland Gap, 7 to find a great gorge breaking abruptly 
through the mountains. 

On the southern, or more strictly speaking, the eastern side of 
the approach to Cumberland Gap or the ascent up the mountain 
is so gradual that one is disappointed until the summit or highest 
point is reached, from which a view is to be had down into Ken¬ 
tucky. It is then, only, that the grand beauty of the historic old 
place is realized. As I rode closer I met signs of military occupa¬ 
tion—there were a lot of horses down the road at a black-smith 
shop waiting to be shod—a couple of soldiers in gray had them in 
charge; further on was a farm-house, on the porch of which two 
officers in loose uniforms were sitting smoking pipes. I forged 
ahead, without being stopped by anybody, or stopping of my own 
accord until I was almost up to the very entrance to the Gap itself. 


32Jf 


THE BO 7 SPY. 


when I met with a careless sort of challenge, given by a soldier, or 
officer without arms. It was only necessary to oiler my papers and 
explain my business, to be told to go ahead, with directions as to 
where I should find our Battery. 

I found our fellows were in a camp—or cabins—some little dis¬ 
tance inside of the real Gap; on that side there seems to be two 
gaps, or, more plainly speaking, it seemed to me from a distance as a 
double gap, neither of which seemed very deep ; indeed, the top of 
the mountain peaks on each side of the road that curved around 
between the two highest points, did not strike me then as deserving 
the great name and celebrity they had obtained. 

When I found the Lieutenant and delivered my papers to him, 
I received from the boys something of that greeting which is always 
accorded to a visitor who brings a pay roll or any papers or mail. 
Lanyard was there, the sailor recruit from Norfolk, as was also 
my old Richmond friend, the Colonel; we three had some hearty 
hand-shaking and cordial greetings. The Colonel, who was really 
the Sergeant, could not spare the time from some duty to accompany 
me, but Lanyard escorted me over to the real Gap, and it was there, 
as I stood on the crest of that great mountain top and looked dowi, 
down into the tree tops of a great forest, far below and stretching 
away in the distance as far as J could see, that I realized what Cum¬ 
berland Gap was. I could see threading along through the mass of 
trees that looked like mere bushes, so far down were they, a wind¬ 
ing cord that resembled to my mind then a kite-string that had 
Topped down from above. This was the long, narrow and crooked 
road which led to the Union forces, which I knew were somewhere 
pretty close. 

We were looking over into Kentucky and into the Union. I 
don’t think I spoke much. I know that when such a scene is pre¬ 
sented to me for the first time, I am struck dumb, as it were, and 
not able to rave over it, as I have so often heard others do, and have 
envied them. 

To my first question, as to the location of the Yankees, Lan¬ 
yard pointing to a clump of trees forming a little grove, seemingly 
isolated from the rest and a little to one side of the road, said: 

“That’s where they were in force when they made that attack 
on the Gap here.” 


THE BOY SPY. 


S25 

Then we walked over to a stockade made of the trunk of sap¬ 
lings put on end in ditches, reaching up ten feet, behind which our 
Maryland hoys were located. They had two guns then, and I was 
shown the marks of bullets of the Yankees, which were in the new 
wood of the stockade. Those who were on guard had a good deal 
to say of these wonderful guns of the Yankees that could imbed 
such a large long ball so deeply in the hard wood of the stockade. 
Our Battery had actually enjoyed the glory of putting a couple dozen 
of shots over into Kentucky somewhere. The bold refugees from 
Ireland imagined that they had done some wonderful execution by . 
these few shots, but, upon investigation a few days later, I found 
that our troops were so close to the guns at the time, that the shots 
passed not only over them, but landed a long distance beyond, 
where they probably fell among the tree-tops and only scared the 
owls. 

If this attack of our troops had been made after my report of 
the weak condition of the defenses of the Rebels, it might have 
resulted in an early capture of Cumberland Gap. 

I lingered a long time in the Gap, at such points as admitted of „ 
my seeing out into Kentucky. I kept my eager longing eyes strained 
over that vista, hoping I might see the Stars and Stripes floating 
defiantly above the tree-tops. So eager was I to learn about the 
land of hope and of home, that lay stretched out before me, that I 
quickly gathered from these soldiers who were about me all the 
information they had about the land that lay beyond. My curiosity 
was pardonable at the time, because they supposed I was green and 
had never seen the Yankee country before. They were also quite 
anxious to tell all they knew, and more too. I gathered enough 
information in a very short time to satisfy me, first, that there were 
no Rebel pickets stationed beyond the Gap, though some predatory 
horsemen belonging to the artillery, and mounted on anything they 
could get, were in the habit of scouting out the roads occasionally 
for forage; secondly, the Yankees were in force within a few 
miles of me. I was told that their Cavalry frequently came almost 
to the foot of the mountain below. 

This was enough. I should not allow another sun to set or rise 
on me before I had put myself under the protection of the old flag. 

I sat alone on a log, on the side of the hill, for a long time. I 


326 


THE BOY SPY 


recalled that awfully hot July day that my companion and myself 
had sat out together on a log in like manner on a hillside, very like 
this one, at Harper’s Ferry, that other great hole in the mountains 
near my home, and how we both escaped inside the lines in the 
evening. My experiences in the Rebel lines during the months that 
followed passed before me rapidly. I was willing to risk a good 
deal to get away without the formality of a “Good-by” to the boys 
whom I had just met and left at the camp a little to the rear. I 
remarked to the sentry who was on guard nearest me: 

“Is there any danger of being caught if I go down the hill to 
that house (pointing to one right below); I want to get something 
good to eat.” 

“ Oh, no,” he said, “ our fellows go down there all the time.” 

He was a very obliging sentry. If he had orders at all, they 
were probably to allow no one to pass in; so, with a heart throb¬ 
bing with suppressed excitement, I looked around. It was.close on 
to evening, about supper time in the Rebel camps. Lanyard had 
returned to the performance of some duty; No one was near except 
the good-natured sentry. I leisurely stepped beyond “ bounds,” 
and, with a parting injunction to the soldier not to shoot when he 
saw me coming up, I stepped off down grade at a lively gait, and 
was soon winding down the horse-shoe curved road, which led mo 
either to home or heaven, liberty or death. 

Before reaching the foot of the winding road, that led on past 
the little house standing some distance below, I stopped a moment 
—only a moment—to plan. In those days my mind was soon made 
up, and, once I had decided a matter, I was always prepared to act 
upon it the same moment. 

I concluded not to go to the house—that I must avoid leaving 
any trail by which I might be traced. To accomplish this, it was 
necessary that I leave the road and clamber up the steep side-hill 
embankment, which was fall of brush and thickets; by so doing it 
would lead me into a wood to the side of the house. 

It was probably another of my mistakes to have left the road 
and climbed that hill to get into the wood. I saw at the foot of 
the mountain below me the little old house by the roadside, which 
reminded me, both by its similarity in appearance and location of 
the old shanty near Manassas, where I had experienced so much 


THE BOY SPY. 


387 


annoying trouble from the quizzical and curious old bushwhacker 
proprietor, after my failure to get through the lines to Washington 
that night in August, 1801. It must have been about supper time 
when I had gotten pretty close to the house that day, because the 
curling, blueish smoke from a freshly-made wood fire was just then 
beginning to pour from the top of the big rough-stone and mud 
chimney, which was, as usual, hung on to the end of the cabin as a 
sort of annex. 

The sentry I had so recently left at the top of the mountain 
had said that “ our men” were in the habit of going down to the 
house, but, with the vision before me of former experience in such 
a mixed crowd in a shanty in Virginia, I quickly enough decided to 
apply some strategy and to flank the obstacle. 

It's a simple matter to plan things and to apply strategy to 
the proposed movements. By the time I had climbed up that 
perpendicular cliff to to the side of the road, through a thicket 
of last year’s blackberry bushes, that were apparently growing 
out of a stone quarry, 1 was so done out that I had to sit 
down on the ground awhile to get my second wind. I had ex¬ 
pended sufficient strength and nerve in making that climb to have 
carried me miles past the house, if I had only made the dash on 
the straight road. 

From my seat on the rocks among the bushes, which was elevated 
considerably above the winding road down the mountain, I could 
see by the refracted sun-set, in that clear atmosphere, a long way 
ahead of me. There seemed to be a thick, almost dense growth of 
timber, which was still below me, so that I looked only over the 
tops of the trees, as one views the chimney-tops of a city from a 
hill. I knew that somewhere in that general direction were the 
Union forces, which had recently attacked the Rebels at the Gap. 
I could only Imagine that their outposts of cavalry were within— 
say a few miles at furthest. 

The house that I was working so hard to avoid was yet, seem¬ 
ingly, as close as it had been before I had quit the road. But from 
my isolated position I could see only the top of it. The road had 
become lost under the tree-tops. Looking back, I could see noth¬ 
ing but the stockades at the top of the Gap, and these I could only 
locate in the fast gathering twilight, because J knew their exact 


328 


THE BOY SPY. 


position. There were no signs of life behind me—nor before me— 
except that the smoke kept curling straight upward from the chim¬ 
ney-top, until it formed in appearance a water-spout in the evening 
sky. 

Up to that time, I might have safely returned to the Rebel 
camps, or, if I had been halted and arrested, it would not have 
been a difficult matter to have accounted for my being out of bounds 
at the time. But I had no intention of returning. I had started 
for home, and I was willing to risk everything to get there. I knew 
very well at that moment I had deliberately added to my peril, in a 
blind fearless sort of a way, # that causes me a shudder as I write it 
down here to-day. If I had been caught, I would have been liable 
to summary execution, on the simple charge of deserting to the 
enemy, and, of course, any delay in the execution of this sentence 
must have resulted only in my character as a spy being discovered 
by the investigation which must follow. While thinking over these 
things, for the moments I sat on that mountain-side that evening, 
I recalled my similar experience while trying to get out of Beau¬ 
regard’s army in Virginia. I planned a plausible excuse to offer, in 
case I should accidentally run into anything hostile, when it sud¬ 
denly occurred to me that the “official papers” about the strength 
, of Beauregard’s army in August, 1861, which I had gotten out of 
the telegraph office and had endeavored to smuggle through, were 
the cause of my greatest danger that time, and I had resolved then 
that I should never again be caught with any papers in my posses¬ 
sion. 

Following my thoughts with the movements of my hands into 
my pockets, to strip myself of papers, arid be prepared for a dash 
for liberty, I hauled out the letter which the Captain had handed 
to me with specific instructions to deliver to the Lieutenant. 

I destroyed it with a good deal of energy, after having first nerv¬ 
ously opened arid read it. By that one simple act, I had cut down 
the last bridge behind me. But you will not be suprised at my rash 
conduct, in thus robbing the Confederate mail, when I give you the 
substance of the letter, as nearly as I can recollect, and, by the way, 
a lifetime—a long and checkered lifetime—will not serve to efface 
from the memory the recollections of such days and nights as this 
in one's experience, * 


































































































4 








THE BOY SPY. 


329 

“Headquarters, near Knoxville. 
“Lieutenant Commanding 

“Detachment Maryland Artillery, 

Cumberland Gap: 

“I send you by-the Muster Rolls, etc. 

************ 

“ It was the intention to go myself, but we have some prospect of 
a move in another direction, and I will wait here for further orders. 
We have borrowed this horse from the Staff, so that these papers 

can be fixed up and returned by-> so they can be returned to 

Richmond. 

* *********** 

“I have a letter from Richmond asking about the antecedents 

of-, and the purpose of sending him up is, that you and 

the “Colonel” (the Sergeant), who brought him in, can answer. 

“ My information is, that he is wanted at Richmond for some¬ 
thing. Fm waiting to hear through the Secretary of War.” 

“(Signed.)” 

This was enough for me. I was not going back now; in fact, Fd 
rather be shot in trying to escape in Kentucky then to be deliber¬ 
ately hung in Tennessee.. Those avIio have read my story will 
not censure-me for opening that letter and neglecting to deliver it 
personally. Probably the rattle-snakes that crawled out of their 
holes among the rocks in that hillside, when the weather became 
warmer, were astonished at the fragments of that official corre¬ 
spondence lying around there so loosely; may be the crumpled and 
torn papers became the basis of some nests. I only know that it 
was not delivered—not much. 

This accounted for the Captain's curious questions the day I 
left him. I saw it all. I got up on my feet suddenly and buckled 
on my armor, as it were, and prepared to fly. It was getting a 
little late in the evening for a walk out alone in that country, but I 
had considerable of a motive behind me, and something of an 
inducement in front. Indeed, I felt, for the time being, that I 
could almost fly as a bird, so eager was I to get there. In starting 
off so suddenly, I neglected to properly take my bearings, so plunged 
down, recklessly, over the rocks and through the bushes, only 





330 


THE BOY SPY. 


knowing that I was going in the general direction which led me 
the furthest away from the Ilehel camps that I had left rp on top 
of the hill. I kept going, going blindly, I thought straight ahead, 
but making little progress. I wasn't the least bit tired then. 
While sitting down to read that letter I had rested wonderfully in 
a short time. It was only when I climed down off the big hill or 
mountain, and had plunged, like a scared deer, into the dense growth 
of woods, that was at the foot of the mountain, that I was stopped, 
almost abruptly by the sudden appearance of darkness, which 
seemed to have dropped around me like a curtain. The curtain 
wasn't pinned with a star, because I couldn't see the evening star 
on the horrizon on account of the trees, that were as thick here as 
the blackberry bushes had been up on top of the mountain. 

I could only see the sky by looking straight up. I don't know 
that I looked up either; in fact, I don't believe I did. My recollec¬ 
tion is that I was only concerned about where to put my feet, and, 
as a consequence, I was obliged to look down pretty much all the 
time pretty sharply. I should have appreciated just then, more 
than anything else, “ A lamp unto my feet and a light unto my 
path." 

It took me a little while to “ get used to it," as they say when 
one plunges suddenly into darkness. 

I have read very nice poetry about the “pathless groves," and 
the “pleasure in the pathless woods, where none intrude," and all 
that sort or thing about the grandeur, and majesty, and silence of 
the woods at night, but I did not relish this dreadful silence and 
majesty that night, and, to tell the truth, I've never learned to 
appreciate the same grandeur since. 

I like well enough to be in the woods at night, if I am one of a 
camp at any army corps headquarters, and 25,000 soldiers are look¬ 
ing’out for the Rebels that may be prowling through the majestic 
woods, but, alone, I don't like it a bit. 

I was alone in a deep, dark wood, somewhere between the out¬ 
posts of the two armies, in the neighborhood of Cumberland Gap. 

Everything around me had become obscured by the thick dark¬ 
ness, that one can almost feel on a dark night. I kept going, as I 
supposed, straight ahead, clambering over fallen logs, stretching 
out my hands before me as 1 stepped cautiously ahead to guard 


THE BOY SPY. 


331 


against a too sudden contact with the trunks of trees, stumbling over 
exposed roots, or becoming entangled in undergrowth. 

This was the tiresome, dreadfully tiresome and discouraging 
path that I trod that night, for hour after hour, in my efforts to 
get home. 

Almost exhausted, I began to grow impatient at not meeting 
with any encouraging outlook. I felt that I had had enough of this 
.and was entitled to a change. I was sure that I had traveled over 
sufficient ground to have brought me, at least, a couple of miles 
nearer the Union lines. But I did not then take into consideration 
the fact that I had been going blindly, and had been merely stumb¬ 
ling and crawling around in a circle, as I have heard all persons do 
who become lost in the woods. 

I realized with a shudder of horror that I was lost—lost, an lost 
forever—in that dark wood nearest the enemy; because I knew very 
well, from the observations of the country that I had made from the 
mountain top, that I should have come out on to the road that led 
on toward the Union line of pickets long before, if I had kept the 
course that I had so carefully laid out before dark. What did I do? 
.1 sat down on a big log and cried like a big baby ; and that’s what 
you would have done. 

I wasn’t so badly scared as I was demoralized, tired out, and 
discouraged. 

After I had sat long enough to have somewhat recovered myself, 
.1 remembered all that I had ever read or heard of persons who were 
lost in the woods. I recalled that when only a boy, in my moun¬ 
tain home, I had connected myself voluntarily with a party of kind- 
hearted mountaineers who had joined in a body to search those 
mountain fastnesses for two little children of six and eight years 
old, who had strayed from their home a day or so previously, and 
were lost in the woods. My two days and nights’ experience in 
that searching party became of great service to me now. 

I first attempted to ascertain in the darkness, by feeling with my 
hands, which side of the trunks of the standing trees the moss was grow¬ 
ing on. I knew that if I could establish for a certainty this fact,from 
several of the trees, I would, from this circumstance, have been 
able to locate the points of the compass, but it failed me, because of 
the utter darkness of the night and the absence of such a trifling 


sss 


THE BOY SPY. 


thing as a match, with which to make a glimmer of light in that 
overpowering gloom. Matches are cheap enough, but, if I had had 
the money then, I would have been willing to have given as much 
cash for the little stick of wood, with a light on the end of it, as 
would have bought all the logs contained in that forest of lumber. 

There was another sign that has never failed the lost and the 
distressed, from wherever looked up to, when the sky was not 
clouded—the North Star. 

While a lad at school I had been taught how to find this, the 
only true and fixed star, and that night, while lost and in such dire 
distress in that dark woods, along side of the enemy, who had, by 
this time surely learned of my escape, I looked up through scald¬ 
ing tears for the dipper and the pointer, and through the leafy 
branches of a high, old oak tree, the bright, twinkling, constant and 
true little North star was looking down brightly upon me as I sat 
there on the old log. What a bright, beautiful, hopeful little 
emblem it was to me then, and how often have I recalled this night, 
when I look up still and find it always the same friend. 

I felt as much relief at the discovery of the North star as if I 
had found a lost trail in the sky. I felt that somehow I should be 
able, from this fact, to come out all right, though I was sorely puz¬ 
zled to discover that, in appearance, the star seemed to be almost 
over the top of the mountain that I was so anxious to get away 
from. I did not then understand, as I since learned, that the range 
of mountains is nearly North and South. 

“ I passed a miserable night, 

So full of ugly sights, of ghastly thoughts, 

That, as I am a Christian, faithful man, 

I would not spend another such a night. 

Though ’twere to buy a world of happy days.” 

This quotation expresses in the familiar lines my experience 
more satisfactorily than I could attempt in a column a description 
of this one night of holy terror. It’s bad enough to be lost under 
any circumstances, but at night, between two lines in a deep, dark 
forest, with the certainty of an ignominous death pursuing me as a 
phantom, almost mocking me through the screeching, hooting owls, 
whose diabolical laughter at my distress, in having failed to reach 


THE BOY SPY. 


sss 


the goal that was in sight before dark were nudible above the tree- 
tops. 

As I have so often said before, there is only one way to properly 
understand the feelings under such conditions, and that is, “put 
yourself in his place.” This can only be done, and that but feebly, 
in the imagination now, because there probably never will be just 
such another “dark path to glory” in that part of the country. 

If I could only have kept moving in any direction, it would have 
been something of a relief, but I couldn't stir without stumbling 
over old roots of fallen trees. I didn't mind that so much, but 
everything was so awfully quiet and solemn that it seemed as if, 
every step I made, my feet would crash into the little twigs, that 
made so much noise that I became startled every time, lest my 
every movement would be heard for miles distant. 

So the only thing for me to do was to sit down on an old rotten 
log, that I had at last stumbled on, and wait for more light. The 
wild, scared thoughts and weird, horrible sounds that went through 
my head while I sat on that log in that dark woods that long, long 
night, can never be described. There were owls, bats, and other 
solemn birds of the night, sitting on the adjacent trees, hooting in 
chorus, and flying past a crazy-looking, wild boy of the woods, sit¬ 
ting like a knot on a log, wild-eyed, and with frantic gestures that 
would become a person with an attack of mania, who attempts 
blindly to protect and defend himself from imaginary enemies that 
would fly uncomfortably close. 

I didn't see any big game. I didn't want to see any. I was not 
hunting; but I imagined there was a whole managerie of such things 
around me. We hear a great deal about the silence and the majestic 
grandeur of the forest, but that's all poetry. There are more noises 
—and the most horrible noises—when alone, to be heard in a deep 
wood on a still, quiet night than ever I heard in the streets of any 
city at midnight. 

It was these sounds that stirred the blood in my veins and kept 
the cold chills running down my back, so that I sat there and shook 
like one with an attack of ague. 

When I could stand it no longer, and found it impossible to 
move in either direction, I climbed a tree. In getting up a pretty 
good-sized tree, I felt that I was out of the world and away from 



THE BOY SPY. 


33b 

the danger of crawling and creeping things, though the owls 
became more curious and inquisitive than ever. That wood was 
full of owls. I was more afraid of them that night than of pan¬ 
thers—or Rebels either. 

Once up in the tree, I was kept busily employed with the neces¬ 
sity for constantly changing my position. I couldn't get “ fixed " 
comfortably on any limb or crotch in that old tree, and I verily 
believe that I “adapted myself" to every position that it afforded. 

From my elevated position in the top branch of the tree I could 
look out through the tops of adjoining trees. It was before the 
season for the leaves to be thick in that section. 

In one direction, I discovered what I had at first taken for a 
heavy cloud on the horizon were the outlines of the mountain. 
There were no signs, from my outlook, of the house and road I had 
seen last before coming into the woods. There was nothing what¬ 
ever to serve as a guide, except the little North star. I could only 
wait for daylight, which must soon come. It seemed as if I had 
been ages in the woods. I looked eagerly for the breaking of the 
gray dawn, but I had been straining my eyes in the wrong direc¬ 
tion, expecting in my dazed condition to see the first glimmer come 
from the western horizon. It was when I looked back of me, with 
a sigh of discouragement, that I first beheld the light of a coming 
dawn. 

“ Night's candles were burnt out, 

And jocund day stood tiptoe 
On the misty mountain top.” 

In a moment I became renewed with the old life and fire of 
those boyish days. Only stopping long enough to get a good view 
of the surrounding hills or mountains, I was able to discover that 
the Gap, from whence I came, was, apparently, closer than when I 
had first taken to the woods in the early twilight. 

If I didn't know exactly where to go to find the Union pickets, 
I saw quite plainly where not to go, and knowing that I'd not make 
any mistake in getting further away from the Gap, I crawled hast¬ 
ily out of the tree, and in another moment was hopping along 
through the woods, which were yet quite dark down on the ground. 

The uneasy night birds had flown. I heard a chicken crow, 


THE BOY SPY. 


335 


though it may have been a mile distant. I steered as clear of that 
signal of the proximity of a house as a sailor does of a fog-horn. As 
the light began to break through the tops of the trees, I was able to 
make better headway. The big mountain, that had cast a shadow 
over the world of woods all that night, loomed up grandly in the 
gray dawn; the Gap stood out as clearly defined in its profile as if 
it had been cut out by a chisel. There was nothing stirring any¬ 
where but me; all the noises had apparently gone to sleep, and I, 
recognizing by former experience that the early morning is the 
safest time to travel in an enemy's lines, was making the best use I 
could of the “ limited time at my disposal '' before the Rebel officers 
would wake up and start their scouts out after me. 

Without meeting with any obstructions, except the fallen logs 
and bushes, I must have traveled a mile, when I suddenly emerged 
from the woods on to a path, .or mountain road, which led in the 
same direction I wish to go. I cautiously followed this until it led 
into another, a larger and apparently a more generally used wagon 
road, which I knew must be the main road leading up to the Gap 
from Kentucky. This, I knew, if followed up, would bring me 
into the Union lines. But it would also be likely to be used by any 
Rebel cavalrymen or scouts who might be sent out from the Gap. 

Not having any means of defense with me, in case I should be 
confronted by an armed scout, I would simply have been at his mercy 
and been led back to the Gap, like a sheep with a rope about its neck. 
On this account, I was obliged to keep myself under cover of the 
woods, but, fearing to trust myself again in the deep woods too far, 
I scouted along the edge as near the road as I dared, keeping the 
open road in view all the time. 

In this way I moved along slowly enough, watching eagerly up 
and down the road for some signs of a picket in blue in one direc¬ 
tion and a scout in gray in the other. 

Soldiers seemed to be awfully scarce out there that morning. 
I thought I'd never get out of the woods, or find relief from the 
long strain on my nerves, my legs, and my stomach. Not seeing 
anything in either direction for so long, I at last, to help myself 
along faster and with less difficulty, boldly came out to the road, 
and, with one good, long look behind me, started to walk ahead at 
$ double-quick gait, 


386 


THE BOY SPY. 


I had not gone far when, stopping to listen, as was my habit on 
such occasions, I was startled to hear what I supposed were horses' 
feet behind me. In a moment I was in the woods at the side of the 
road, where my long jumps made such a noise in the dry under¬ 
growth that I had to stop and lie down. 

I saw two gray coats coming up the road together, both of them 
on foot. Dropping myself to the ground as suddenly as if shot, 
just where I stood, I lay for a few seconds in a tremor of fright, 
the only sound audible being my heart wildly beating. 

As the two men passed by me on the road, they were talking in a 
hurried way between themselves, and my presence was not discovered 
I lifted my head far enough to look after them when they passed. 
I saw that they were none other than two men from our own Rebel 
company of Maryland Artillery; but, worst of all, one of the two 
was Lanyard, my old Richmond mate and chum ; the other was a 
fat, young German, who had been a baker in Richmond. 

The first thought in my mind was that these two fellows had 
been sent out on the road after me. Any person would have so 
surmised under like circumstances, and, like myself, would have 
been terror-stricken at the thought of being so close to them. It 
was not comforting, either, to know that they were now not only on 
my path, but they were ahead of me. 

What to do under the suddenly-changed condition of things 
was only a momentary puzzle. I argued to myself that they could 
not go very far ahead on that road without running into the Union 
pickets, and that, if they were not captured by them, they would 
soon be coming back over that path. In either case, I should avoid 
the road, and endeavor once again to get through to the Union 
lines through the woods only, while the daylight lasted. 

The thought that perhaps our forces had fallen back some dis¬ 
tance, or that they might have wholly abandoned that part of the 
country, was not comforting. While I did not at first understand 
why Lanyard, of all others, should be the person detailed to inter¬ 
cept me, I began to imagine that his notion was that I had inno¬ 
cently strayed off and been lost, and that liis purpose was only to 
aid me in a friendly way, in my return to the Rebel camp. 

While walking through the wood, some such thoughts as I have 
tried to describe were crowding each other through my now fren* 


THE BOY SPY. 


337 


zied brain, when the current was suddenly changed by hearing the 
wild barking of dogs ahead, in the direction my pursuers had taken 
on the road. 

If there is one thing more than any other that a scout detests, 
while he is quietly pursuing his business, it's a barking dog. 

Crawling carefully toward the sound, I could see some smoke 
above the trees, and a little beyond,'on the opposite side of the road, 
a house. That was enough for me. I wanted some breakfast 
terribly just then, but I had no use for any more houses. What I 
wanted to see was a camp of soldiers with their tents and the Stars 
and Stripes floating over them. 

It took a long time to flank that insignificant little old house, 
and made my legs very tired, but I succeeded in accomplishing the 
task at last, and had the satisfaction of looking back at it from a 
hill-top on the road, some distance inside, or beyond it. 

I saw then what surprised me no little. In the road and all 
about the front of the house that I had passed, were quite a crowd 
of men and some horses tied to the fences alongside. The men 
seemed to be armed, and they wore blue clothes. I wasn’t exactly 
sure of this from the distance. I remembered my mistake in Vir¬ 
ginia in trusting too much to the blue clothes, and determined that 
this time I should be sure the wearer of the blue was a Union sol¬ 
dier and not a disguised Rebel. 

I hoped sincerely and prayed that I had passed a Union outpost, 
and was at last within the United States. That they had not seen 
me was evident, from the indifferent and careless manner of the 
men. I judged, too, that the dogs had announced the approach of 
Lanyard and the baker to the house, and that they were both 
detained there. 

I trudged ahead, hugging the road closely, meeting with no one 
in that lonely country, until so tired out and exhausted, after my 
/night and now half of the day, that I was forced to sit down by the 
roadside to rest. I don’t think I went to sleep, but must have 
dozed off, so completely exhausted had I become. I dreamed of my 
capture, the tramp of horses’ feet, and heard the angry voices, 
which I had imagined belonged to a gang of Rebels, who were drag¬ 
ging my helpless body to a good place for a hanging. 

In this nightmare in the broad daylight I was as helpless as if 




338 THE BOY SPY. 

tied hand and foot, and could not utter a word, but blindly sub¬ 
mitted to their brutal treatment, because too weak to resist. Aroused 
by the approaching sound of persons’ voices, before I could get to 
my feet two horsemen in blue, armed with carbines, their sabres 
rattling, were almost up to me. In front of the two cavalrymen 
walking along, not like captured prisoners, but gayly laughing and 
talking with the mounted men, were my two comrades in arms— 
Lanyard and the baker. 

I lay perfectly stunned. 1 dare not, I could not, move for an 
instant, when they quickly came almost abreast of me, and I jumped 
up so suddenly as to scare the nearest horse, so that it shied against 
its companion. 

I spoke first, with the desperation of an outlaw challenging a 
helpless traveler: “ Are you Union or Confederate ?” 

Before he could answer my question, which had been put as 
pointedly as if demanding money or life. Lanyard, with a shout of 
pleased surprise, came over to me, saying : 

“ Bully for us ! We are all right, my old chum,” and, turning to 
the cavalryman, who seemed to be getting ready for a combat or a 
conspiracy, he said : 

u This is my old chum that I was telling about,” then turning 
to me, for I was not yet fully satisfied in my own mind—“'Why, in 
h—, didn’t you tell me, so that we could come together ? ” 

Then, after seeing that I was indeed 0. K. at last, and, sure 
enough, under the guard of the troopers of the United States 
Army, I was ready for an Indian dance, even though I was so tired 
that my legs would scarcely carry me along. 

The youngest of the troopers was a handsome boy of about nine¬ 
teen or twenty, who informed me that he was a Kentuckian, and 
one of the company of Kentucky Cavalryman in the Union Army. 

I hope this young chap and his companion are living yet some¬ 
where in the beautiful blue-grass region of Kentucky, ahd that they 
may see this book, and will be kind enough to give me their pres¬ 
ent address. 




































































CHAPTER XXIII. 


RETURN HOME FROM CUMBERLAND GAr—MEETING WITH PARSON 
BROWNLOW ON HIS TRIP TO WASHINGTON. 

I knew by that particular instinct, born of a soldier's daily 
experience of months among his own kind, that the two Cavalry¬ 
men I had seen coming up the road toward me were not from the 
army I had just left, or I should have kept quiet. Probably it was 
because I remembered, at the first glance of them, that I had not 
seen any siich looking troopers in the Rebel Army, either about the 
Gap or in the interior country beyond, through which I had so 
recently traveled miles on horseback. 

After some “ mutual explanations and introductions," with a 
general hand-shaking all around, wherein it was laughingly agreed 
among them that my Jack Shepard manner of jumping out of 
a bush to demand satisfaction was a good joke—on my part— 
as they supposed it, I “fell in" with Lanyard and Baker, and 
we marched on ahead of the two cavalrymen toward the Union 
camp. Though I was tired and well-nigh exhausted, I walked 
ahead so briskly and stepped out so joyously that I was almost 
keeping the horses on a trot to keep up with us. This fact elicited 
from the older of the Kentucky cavalrymen an observation to his 
comrade that comprised about all the words that I remember to 
have heard him speak while in his company : 

“ My h—, don't that fellow travel!" 

I am not prepared to say whether the renewed motive power was 
supplied through a fear of the Rebels coming after us in force, or a 
wild desire to get to a place where the blue soldiers were to be seen 
in greater numbers. 

As we walked along together. Lanyard gave me a minute and 
funny account of the manner in which my disappearance was 
accounted for by my late companions in arms at the Gap. 

“ Well, by G—! I never thought you were a real Yankee. Why 
didn't you say something to me before? I was your best friend 
always, you sucker." Then, with a loud laugh and a slap on my 

SS9 


sw 


TEE BOY SPY. 


tired back that nearly knocked me off my feet, lie made a break 
for the little, fat Dutch baker. 

“Say, Baker, ain't you just playing off as a Dutchman? Come 
now; let's hear you talk plain United States. You are in a free 
country." 

The baker had suddenly dodged to the other side of the road 
when the hilarious Lanyard reached his ponderous claws toward 
him, and only grinned back, in broad Dutch, his reply to the sug¬ 
gestion. After a little more of-this sort of sky-larking, as he called 
it, he cooled down sufficiently to talk in a more rational way, but 
kept on using, by way of emphasis, as Parson Brownlow would say, 
“Good mouth-filling oaths, that would blister a sailor's lips." 

“Why, blank it—I only shipped with this gang of pirates until 
we could reach some civilized port where I could get ashore amongst 
white people." 

Lanyard was opposed to “d-d niggers," and had somehow 

become full of the contrary notion, that the South was fighting to 
retain the colored population, and the North wished to free them, 
merely that they could be sent," as he said, “back to Africa, where 
they belong." 

“ You were not missed from camp last night until it was time 
to turn in; the duffer that was on watch up on the volcano back 
there reported to his partner, who took his place, that you had 
said you were sick, and had gone down to the house below to get a 
hot supper, so he told him not to shoot at you when you came in to 
roost. 

“Our old chum, the Colonel, you know, he got excited because 
you didn't show up, so he had to turn us out to go down to the old 
house to fetch you in. I told him it was no use; that you would be 
too drunk to walk up the hill; but he made me take a mate out of 
our mess, and started us out after you. We couldn't get by the 
watchman. We told the blasted fool that we had to go down the 
hill to find you, but he kept fooling with his gun, and swore he'd 
sink us if we tried to run out of port. 

“ Pretty soon the racket and loud talk brought an officer and a 
whole gang of fellows on to us, and we were taken into the guard¬ 
house. We had t) stay there half the night before any of our fel¬ 
lows came to help us out; then the Colonel and Elkton figured 



THE BOY SPY. 341 

around and, by a lot of talking, they were allowed to take us back to 
our shanty to finish the rest of the night. 

“Now I wanted to get out of that country and go to New York, 
terrible bad, but, by G—, I never would have thought of going down 
into that wood to find a path to New York. I was just going to 
wait until the Yankees came up to fight us, and then I was going 
right out to join them in spite of li—; but I wanted to see them first. 
Well, while we were in the guard-house that night, and our Lieuten¬ 
ant was talking with the other officer about getting us out, I heard 
them say something about your, * being in the Yankee camp before 
we started after you/ This set me thinking about your being 
there and me left in the Rebel guard-house. 

“On the way back to our shanty, I asked the Lieutenant if he 
thought you were captured by the Yanks, and he said : 

“ Oh, no ! he's got lost, and will turn up all right when it gets 
daylight." 

“ But the Lieutenant was in a damn bad humor about your going 
off, and kept talking to the Sergeant about it being “queer" that 
you should come up from Knoxville and go straight out into that 
country alone. The Colonel was satisfied that you were lost, but 
the Lieutenant said the officers up at the guard-house -were sure you 
had gone straight to the Yankee Camp, as they were out on the road 
only a mile and you must have been among them before night. 

“ The Lieutenant talked to them as if it might be so, because you 
had been having a row with the Captain again, and it was'hard to 
tell what you had been doing last. That is about the way they 
kept talking about you. 

“I began to think, if the Yankees were only a mile off, that I 
would like to go and see them, and not wait for them to come up 
and see us. So that night, after we got back to our quarters, I told 
the Lieutenant I would start out at daybreak and hunt you up, 
my notion being that you had left for good and I wanted to join 
you. The duffer that was with me swore lie would not go along 
with me down the hill, if the Yankees were only a mile off. At this 
the Dutchy wakened up from his sleep and bravely volunteered to go 
along with me. Then Lanyard with a contemptuous look, turned to 
Baker and said : * Sav, Dutchy, you blasted rascal, you played me 
for a marine, didn't you?' But getting only another broad smile 


TffE BOY SPY. 




from Baker for a reply, he continued talking, much to th« 
amusement of our Guard of Cavalrymen, his tongue and jaw keep¬ 
ing pace with our quick steps. 

“Well, to make a long story short, I laid awake all the balance 
of the night in thinking it over. I got our old chum to fix up a 
plan with the officers to allow me to go out to hunt you up; and 
just as soon as I could bundle up a little, we made the break, and 
came straight down the road to' that house. They told us you had 
not been there that night. After taking my bearings, we grabbed 
the anchor, set full sail, and ran out the road until these chaps hailed 
us back at the house there. 

“ Dutchy kept right along side of me; he wasnT a bit afraid of 
the Yankees, he said, and wanted to go ahead. Then with a 
look of assumed disgust at the baker for having so shrewdly 
deceived him by pretending bravery in meeting Yankees, while his 
intention all the time was simply to conceal his real motive, which 
had been to escape, his tongue ran on with an amusing soliloquy, 
and, partly addressing himself to the cavalryman about ‘ the deceit¬ 
ful, lying, treacherous marines he—the guiless, innocent sailor 
boy—had been compelled to associate with for so long a time against 
his inclination/ " 

This cavalry was part of an outpost who were stationed at this 
point on the road nearest the rebels, as is the usual custom; they 
were some miles in advance of the infantry or the headquarters, of 
the camp. We learned from our Guard that their principal duty 
consisted in receiving and escorting to headquarters the scores of 
Unionist refugees, who were constantly coming into their lines day 
and night, in an exhausted condition, through the passes of these 
mountains. Most of these Unionists were promptly enlisted into 
the Tennessee regiments, then in camp with the Union army. By 
this means was solved a difficult problem for the officers, as to their 
maintenance, when driven away from their homes. (The Govern¬ 
ment was supposed to guarantee protection to them in their homes.) 
Under this head, or in this classification, we were placed by the 
Union officer with whom we first came in contact. 

Some time ago, in looking over a volume of the published War 
Records, by a mere accident I turned to a page referring to some 
operations about Cumberland Gap, and, because of its familiarity to 


THE BOY SPY. 


S43 


me, I took the time to hunt up, as nearly as I could, some of the 
official records bearing on the time of my escane. On a certain 
page, which I could give herein, is an official report of the general 
officer in command of the Union forces, announcing the arrival of 
“three men” who had escaped from the Rebel army that date, and 
who had given him valuable information of the plans and the forces 
of the Rebels in his front. 

As I have previously stated, I have no memory for dates, but 
my impression is that our information, at that time, was of service 
to General Grant, who was then operating in the West, in this. 
that I had satisfied the general officer, from my account of the loca¬ 
tion of the Rebel troops, their guns and earthworks in the Gap, 
that it could not be captured by assault, by any reasonable force in 
front. In the words of Longfellow, adapted to the occasion: 

“ Try not the Pass, the young man said.” 

And they didn't. The force that had been idly lying out there, 
where provisions and ammunition had to be hauled for miles upon 
miles over the miserable Kentucky roads, soon after changed their 
base, and were placed where they could do the most good. 

It was late in the afternoon when we reached the camp of the 
Union forces. I was tired—very tired, and most awfully hungry, 
too, when we got in sight of a real camp of soldiers, which was, in 
those days, laid out in regular form according to the books, in roAVS 
upon rows of tents in the woods; a neat clean parade ground, from 
the center of which rose a tall staff, on the very pinnacle of which 
was flying—old glory—the Stars and Stripes. 

There are moments in every soldier's life time that will never be 
effaced from the memory, and this was one that, in my heart to-day, 
is as bright and happy as it was twenty-five years ago. I can not 
describe my feelings; I will not attempt it. Those who have tried to 
read my experiences for the months preceding will understand, but 
only feebly, how heartfelt was my gratitude in that supreme 
moment of my life. It was as if I had escaped an ignoble death, 
but, generally, my heart was filled with unselfish pride and pleasure 
at seeing floating up there, above the army, the flag that for months 
upon months I had heard decried until sometimes I begun to think 


THE BOY SPY. 


su 

that there was no one to defend it but me, and I was all alone among 
enemies, and must grin and bear the daily abuse in silence. I don’t 
believe I spoke a word to anybody for an hour. 

Near the flag were a few large tents standing by themselves, 
which were pointed outf to us as the headquarters, where we were 
to be conducted as soon as we had washed off some of the dirt and 
dust. In front of these headquarter tents were seated three officers 
comfortably smoking pipes and chatting together pleasantly. 

We were transferred to an' infantry guard, being still held as 
prisoners. After giving us plenty of time to put ourselves in as good 
shape as we could, and being kindly tendered all the aid they could 
give us, we were put between files of neatly uniformed soldiers. 
When I made some remark to one of them about going to unneces¬ 
sary trouble about us, as we were only too glad to get there, and 
weren’t going to leave them, he explained with a laugh, as he fixed 
his bayonet to the gun. “ That’s all right; we know that; but the 
* old man 9 would kill us if we should march you fellows up there in 
anything but the regular military style.” 

So, after putting us in about the shape that the recruit occupies 
at his muster into the G. A. K., a sprightly young officer of the guard, 
with sash and sword, gave the order to forward, and we were marched 
across the parade ground toward headquarters. 

As we passed almost under the flag, I looked up, and, with¬ 
out a thought that anyone would see me, I involuntarily took 
off my old rebel hat. Our appearance was, of course, attracting 
very general attention in the camp, and, I presume, some of 
them witnessed the humble salute to the old flag, which was the 
more marked as I wore the gray clothes of a rebel and a traitor to 
the flag. 

To my surprise, the “old man,” as the General was called, was 
quite an ordinary-looking little gentleman. It was General Carter, 
of East Tennessee. As I have since been advised, he had been a 
naval officer in the United States Naval Service for some years before 
the war. 

The Guard, after properly presenting us, were dismissed; we 
were pleasantly invited to take seats on a log, and for an hour I did 
most of the talking, but that Union officer only gathered from me my 
East Tennessee experience, which was of immediate use to him, he 


THE BOY SPY. 


was told nothing whatever of my former relations with Washington 
and the Secretary of War. 

'There was a young fellow on the staff of the General who 
exerted himself in a very pleasant, easy way to make us comfortable. 
To him I was particularly indebted for some personal favors, that 
I have never had an opportunity of repaying, except at this late date 
to publicly acknowledge my obligation. 

There was not a dollar of any kind of money between the three 
of us, so we had need of friends then. In this camp I first saw a 
greenback, which was presented to me by this young officer. 

After the General was satisfied that he had pumped us all dry 
of information, he gave the necessary orders for our entertainment. 

We were taken in charge by a couple of jolly fellows of an 
Indiana regiment, one of whom had been a river man, and had 
some acquaintance with that section of the Ohio river, the head¬ 
waters of which I had started out from with Andy Johnson’s train 
some months before. The “ boys” gave us a hearty supper of coffee 
—real coffee. ♦ 

It is sufficient to say here that the boys of that Indiana regiment 
were clever fellows; they treated us bang-up, as our fellows always 
did when a poor, hungry devil in gray strayed in to take supper 
with them. 

There were one or two exceptions, as there always is in every 
company, who run around to do the scavenger work. I was tired 
—I believe I have said so once before—and, as soon as possible, after 
the grub had been swallowed, I hunted a place to stretch myself out 
for a rest. I felt safe enough, and knew then that, for the first 
night in months, I could lie down to sleep in perfect security, not 
dreading or fearing what the next day would bring forth. 

One of those curs, that was always hanging around to make 
themselves noticed, seemed to have taken offense at what he sup¬ 
posed was an intentional slight or failure to recognize his import¬ 
ance ; he was, I think, a First Sergeant of a company—one of those 
fellows who have a grievance against everybody because he wasn’t 
the Colonel. I don’t really remember what I could have said or 
done to have brought upon my defenseless head his vengeance ; but 
it’s my impression now that, in his positive, disagreeable way, he 
had been boastfully referring to the Rebel soldiers in their front as 


THE BOY SPY. 


m 

being of no consequence—you all know how some fools talk about 
the enemy. IPs barely possible that I had resented his estimate of 
the ability of the Rebels I had just left. I had been among them a 
good while, and knew something of their character, and it was a 
weakness with me to attempt to defend them at such a time; but L 
reckon I was as big a fool as this fellow himself, and talked too 
much in an honest, candid way about the earnestness and patriotic 
zeal and enthusiasm, as well as the undoubted^ courage of the Rebel 
soldiers. 

I reckon that I was so tired that I was cross-grained at the per¬ 
sistence of the fellow urging himself upon me. I was wakened 
from a sound sleep by a Corporal with an armed guard, who said he 
had orders to put me in the guard-house. Hardly realizing my 
position, in my dazed condition, I mechanically followed the 
Corporal out into the cool, night air, which had the effect of awak¬ 
ening me fully to the changed conditions in my circumstances. 

It seemed so like a dream that I could scarcely realize that I 
was being escorted to a guardhouse. The Corporal kindly intimated 
to me that there were fears that I would get away. I could get no 
further satisfaction from him or the guard, except that the matter 
would be explained in the morning. 

The fact that a Sentinel stood near me with a loaded musket did 
not at all interfere with my slumber; it rather had the effect of 
inducing more sound sleep, as I felt a certain personal security from 
the Rebels as long as I was honored with a private protector of my 
own—while I slept. In the morning a good breakfast was sent 
me. Lanyard called, but was not permitted to speak to me, and 
walked off swearing to himself. After guard-mounting, I was con¬ 
ducted to the GeneraPs tent, where I met the young staff officer, 
who, in the most brotherly manner, said : 

“Mr.-, the General was disposed to give you special con¬ 

sideration, because it seems that he had been impressed by your 
manner and your voluntary salute to our colors yesterday, that you 

were a born loyalist; but he is informed by Captain-- and 

some member of Company —, Indiana, that you were detected in 
giving expression to the most traitorous sentiments, and you 
declared your belief of the ultimate success of the Rebels, which, you 
know, is not the way you talked to us yesterday.” 




THE BOY SPY. 


347 


My manner and the expression of my face must have satisfied 
the young officer at once. Really, I was too much taken aback 
to speak for a moment, hut, when my tongue did* get loosened, it 
gave expression to such violent language that the young officer 
laughed heartily at my earnestness. I denied most positively the 
use of any such words, and demanded the authority. The officer 
simply said • 

‘* Well! The General said you were nobody’s fool, and I didn't 
think you would have talked that way in our camp •” then, turning 
to an orderly, he directed him to bring to headquarters a certain 
person, whose name I am sorry I am unable to give. It was the 
blatant First Sergeant who had forced himself upon me. When 
face to face with him, in the presence of the General and several 
other persons, I was able to so completely demolish his statements 
that his discomfiture was enjoyed by everybody around the camp. 
I was indignant, and I talked badly. I was apt to be that way then, 
and my tongue and gestures toward my vis-a-vis created so much 
amusement I was allowed to indulge myself to the fullest extent. 
It was a mistake of mine. The Sergeant went away humiliated 
and full of revengeful intent. I was released from arrest and 
joined Lanyard in the camp. The affair had created something 
of a breeze, as every soldier in camp had heard of the arrest. 
While in a tent, surrounded by a crowd of boys who were congrat¬ 
ulating me, an officer with a drawn sword rushed into the crowd 
and in an instant put the point of his sword against my breast, 
with a wild oath, as he grabbed for my throat, declaring he would kill 
me if I did not retract every word I said to the General about his 
First Sergeant. 

I have said that, in cases of sudden and dangerous emergency, I 
was always able to be cool, while I get terribly rattled in anticipa¬ 
tion of imaginary danger. So it was that, in this case, I was the 
only cool one in the crowd. Looking straight in^the Captain's eye, 
and wholly disregarding his sword, I said to him, calmly: “ I am 

unarmed and a prisoner ” 

At this, one of the men present, though only an enlisted man, 
attempted to interfere in my behalf, which only seemed to further 
enrage the officer, who turned from me to glare at the common 
soldier. 


THE BOY SPY. 


SlfS 

In the mean time some one had run over to headquarters and 
told the General and staff that I had been killed by this officer. In 
a moment the young staff officer made his appearance on the scene, 
and my life was again saved. The explanation was, that the Indi- 
and Captain was a brother-in-law of the First Sergeant whom I had 
discomfited. I was politely requested to accompany the young staff 
officer to the General’s tent where the matter was explained. 

I have seen military men awfully mad, but it was the first time I 
ever beheld a General get so angry that he turned as white as a 
dead man; why, he couldn’t speak at all, but simply walked off; and 
those who had not seen his face would have been led to imagine that 
he was simply indifferent. I was invited to sit down near the 
headquarters’ tent. In a very few moments—less than it takes to 
tell it here—that Indiana Captain’s sword was taken from him, he 
was in arrest, in disgrace for having been guilty of one of the most 
cowardly unolficer-like acts that can be charged to a soldier—that 
of assaulting a defenseless prisoner. 

That afternoon, the Colonel of the Indiana regiment spent a 
couple of hours with the General, in attempting to j)alliate the Cap¬ 
tain’s offense, but it was no use. I could not hear what they said, 
but could see that the little General kept shaking his head con¬ 
stantly in a savage negative, that indicated his feelings. 

This alfair created such a stir in the camp that it was thought 
best to send us away at once. So, that evening, all three of us were 
marched under the same style of guard with fixed bayonets to the 
camp of an Ohio regiment, located about a mile distant. 

In due time we reached Lexington. Here the officer transferred 
us to the charge of the sick soldiers. It so happened that, just 
before reaching the town of Lexington, we had all stopped for a 
noon rest at a point near which was a fine, old-fashioned mansion 
house, belonging to a large farm. The house, as is the style of that 
country, was well supplied with verandas and porches. In the rear 
was quite a little village of whitewashed log-cabins, which I recog¬ 
nized as the negro quarters. The stone spring-house was in a little 
ravine convenient to the barn, where we all went to get a drink of 
cool water. While seated around on the big, flat stones, enjoying 
the cool, refreshing water, an old gentleman, tall and patriarchal- 
looking, walked toward us. and, in his courteous manner, intro- 


THE BOT SPY. 


349 


duced himself to the rough-looking crowd that had taken possession 
of his spring-house, as “ the farmer who lived here,” pointing hack 
to his house, and politely asked if we required anything more to make 
us comfortable. For one, I felt abashed and uncomfortable, but 
Lanyard spoke up and suggested that: “We would like to try a 
little of the Kentucky whisky that we heard so much about.” 

“ Certainly, certainly, sir;” and turning to a grinning colored 
“boy,” who was quite a gray old rat, he directed him to “ fetch the 
the brown jug down.” 

This kindly reception of the sailor's suggestion served to make 
the old gentleman exceedingly popular with the whole crowd. The 
colored man was anxious to be agreeable also, and, with quite a 
frisky manner for one of his age, he soon trotted back with a big 
jug and two tin cups. 

“ Wait on the gentlemen,” was the brief order. The old darky 
smiled all over when he saw the alacrity with which the boys 
crowded toward the jug. I had never allowed myself to drink, and 
when my turn came the old gentleman seemed to be offended at my 
declining it, as if it were the quality of the whisky that I was 
objecting to; he explained : 

“You need not be afraid of that, my boy, it's pure; the rye was 
grown right over in that field, sir; I had it made myself, sir; it's 
for my own family use, sir.” 

To satisfy him I took hold of a tin cup and allowed the boy to 
nour out a spoonful or two, intending to fill it up with water. 

“No use in that, sir; it don't need any water, sir.” 

I gulped it down like a dose of medicine, and put a tin cup full 
of water on top of it. It was the first time I had ever seen whisky 
drank from a tin, but I saw lots of it come from the tin canteens 
soon after. 

The effect 011 Lanyard was to make him talkative and somewhat 
confidential with the genial old host. I didn't hear what was said, 
but when we had separated, or the jug had been emptied. Lanyard 
took me to one side and muttered in my ear, in a half-drunken 
way, in great confidence that: “ I've told the old man that you and 
I were Confederate prisoners, and gave him a hint that we would be 
glad to get a lunch.” Then grabbing me by the aim, I was dragged 
up to the house and made to sit down on the veranda with him. 


360 


THE BOY SPY 


I wasn't drunk—that's a fact—I could see peeping through the 
window shades several pairs of bright eyes. 

I realized at a glance that it was our gray clothes that was the 
attraction, and that the appearance of two real Confederates on 
that porch was creating something of a sensation among the lady 
occupants of that “Old Kentucky Home." 

In order to gratify my vanity, and to see the ladies, as well as a 
desire to have some fun, I helped to keep up this delusion. Lan¬ 
yard's object was something good to eat. 

Lest there should be some misunderstanding on the part of our 
officer and his companions as to our motives, I quietly gave them 
the cue, and I admit now, with a sense of mortification, that wo 
shamefully imposed ourselves on the kind people of that home as 
Confederates, and, through this means, we were so hospitably enter¬ 
tained that the officer in command was induced to prolong his camp 
in that grove all night. 

Several of us were furnished with an elegant supper of chicken 
and corn cakes, while the officer and myself were agreeably enter¬ 
tained by the ladies in the parlor during the long evening. 

There were, also, a couple of mules goingbackhome on sick fur¬ 
lough. These were tied on behind the wagon that was in front of 
ours, being towed along in this way like a pair of solemn prisoners 
of war. 

One of these mules was bigger than the other, but the little one 
had the larger head and -longer ears of the two, which gave to it a 
peculiar, wise-looking expression of grave dignity. It was what 
would be called a roan. I remember that, in our joking way, we had 
lots of fun about its hide being about the color of the Rebel uni¬ 
forms. I reckon our loud and coarse remarks about this mule 
must have hurt its feelings; at least, this is the only way in which I 
can account for its subsequent vindictive conduct toward me. 

Those who have been in Kentucky—especially that part of Ken¬ 
tucky—will know something about the roads. At this season of 
the year they were simply awful—not so muddy, but just about as 
rough as big rocks, and the exposed roots of large trees could make 
\hem. The rains for ages back seemed to have washed out all the 
bottom of earth, and had left exposed on the surface a net work or 
corduroy of roots, with the chinks filled in with stones. It wasn't 


TUE BOY SPY. 


351 


pleasant riding In an army wagon over these roads, and we earned our 
passage by walking. There was not sufficient room on that road 
beside the wagon for a foot path, so we had to follow in the rear of 
the wagons. In a long procession of wagons, mules, and soldiers, 
sandwitched one behind the other, I was walking slowly, one after¬ 
noon, with my head down, thinking over the happy escapes from 
the many dangers through which I had been almost miraculously 
preserved, and no doubt dreaming of the anticipated joys of a wel¬ 
come home, which was soon to be realized, when all of a sudden I 
felt a quick rush of wind and dust thrown like a gust into my face; 
at the same time the rim of my hat was barely touched by the 
heels of that roam mule. The fellow who was beside me cried out 
something about “looking out,” and dragged me back into the heads 
of the team following. 

This is not an attempt to be funny, but is set down here as a 
most remarkable intervention of Providence—or my good angel—• 
for my safety. That mule kicked back over a clear space as 
long as himself, and had correctly directed his heels right into 
my face.; had I been two inches closer, the blow would have been 
received full on my forehead and must have fractured my skull with 
its force. 

When we got into the town, or City of Lexington, about noon, 
one day, we found the town full of people. It was, I think, court 
week; anyway, the prisoner game was played on some of the citizens 
here also, by Lanyard. In this way we were well cared for. 

It was night when we reached Cincinnati, where we were fer¬ 
ried over the Ohio river and placed on Ohio soil. Here I was, at 
last, free of all restraint, and permitted to do as I pleased. Lan¬ 
yard was still full of the genuine Kentucky bourbon, and that 
night was lost to me forever. 

I usually hunted up in those days, on reaching a city, a tele¬ 
graph office, that I might announce to my folks at home, in this 
spirited way, that I had agatn returned to the earth for a brief visit 
to them. It was always a surprise to them to hear from me, after one 
of these secret-service trips; they never knew exactly where I was, of 
course, and could not make any calculations as to what point on the 
earth my balloon would land me next. It will be remembered that 
I had come upon them suddenly, after being widely advertised as 


352 


THE BOY SPY. 


having been hung by both the Rebels and our own officers at Fort 
Pickens, some time previously, from New York. This time it was 
from Cincinnati. 

Being one of the boys—that is, a telegrapher—I usually had 
free access to the operating-rooms of the offices, where I frequently 
met with some of the fraternity with whom I was well acquainted— 
by wire. You know it is a fact that there are old acquaintances and 
even intimate friends amongst telegraphers, who have never met 
personally; their only method of knowing each other is through 
the mysterious and magnetic pulse of the electric wave over the 
wire. 

In the operating room of the Cincinnati office, up on a dingy 
fourth floor, 1 fpund the night manager, a gentleman whom I had 
known familiarly by wire, though I had never seen him before. 
Introducing myself, I was at once made at home, and felt as if I 
had met the first friend since my return. After giving him a brief 
account of myself, I was courteously put in instant communication 
with some of my old associates in the neighboring city, with whom 
I was personally acquainted, and who had, by the way, heard of my 
mysterious disappearance and subsequent adventures. For the time 
being, all other business was laid to one side on that telegraph cir¬ 
cuit and the entire system was turned over to me. 

Remember, if you please, that I had not heard a single word 
from home for over eight months. I did not, of course, know that 
all were well. I almost dreaded to hear first that some one dear to 
me had died during my long absence. 1 had sent some communt 
tions through the blockade from Richmond, but this had been some 
time before I left East Tennessee. 

Of course, no replies to these could be received by me. Now, 
if the reader will put himself in my own, or my father’s place, each 
at the end of a wire five hundred miles long, and try to imagine, if 
he can, the agony of suspense and fear that hung over me at that 
hour, he will realize, in part, my feelings. My nerves were at such a 
tenison that, figuratively speaking, they were strung out as long as 
that wire, that reached over miles of mountain and plain to my 
Pennsylvania home. With my own hand trembling on the tele¬ 
graph key I sent my own message, as follows: 

“To father: I am here safe; are all well at home?” 


/ 



TO FATHER: “I AM SAFE, ARE ALL WELL AT HOME?” 











































































i 


■ 















* 




- 







THE BOY SPY. 


353 


While waiting for the answer, which I knew must come soon, 
the moments seemed hours of suspense, while I tried to entertain 
my friends who were about me with a brief sketch of my adven¬ 
turers, one of the operators took from the wires and handed me 
the reply, which I had failed to catch with my own ear while 
engaged in the talk. He read aloud the exact words of a bona fide 
message: 

“ I had little hopes of ever seeing you again. Come straight 
home. Your uncle A-is dead. All the rest well.—Father.” 

That was all. It was enough. All were well at home. The 
uncle who had died in my absence was the one relative I had last 
visited on the day I heard of the battle of Bull Run. I would like 
here to tender a tribute to my father, but I feel that I am not com¬ 
petent to do the subject justice. 

He still lives, an old patriarch, and will read these notes and 
for the first time fully understand the entire story of his wayward 
boy/s adventures. My father was the one true constant friend of 
my checkered career, and to him and his untiring interest in my 
behalf I owe not only the preservation of my life, but what little I 
have attained in this world. I can sincerely thank God, as Beecher 
says, “ That I was born of parents who gave me a sound constitution 
and a noble example, and can never pay back what I got from my 
parents. If I were able to raise a monument of gold higher than 
heaven, it would be no expression of the debt of gratitude which I 
owe them, for that which they unceasingly gave by the heritage of 
their body and the heritage of their souls to me.” 

That night we reached Pittsburgh, which had been my business 
home for some years immediately preceding my war travels. 

My father's home was not at that time in Pittsburgh but a little 
distance beyond. 

Early next morning I was around.town, and soon enough found 
plenty of my old chums. I was only in danger then of meeting too 
many people who were anxious to hear my story from my own lips. 
Luckily for me, perhaps, T was captured by Mr. William Moreland, 
an old associate, who was then the district attorney, and through 
his advice and management I was preserved from my friends, and 
urged not to talk too much until I had first reported to Washington. 

It will be remembered that I had suffered previously by giving 


THE BOY SPY. 


55b 

the New York papers an account of my Florida campaign in 
advance of my report to Washington ; and, with a desire to profit by 
this experience, I refrained from giving away my story. 

At my father’s house, on the sunset side of the Allegheny Mount¬ 
ains close by Cresson Springs, I remained in comparative retire¬ 
ment but for a few days. 

While I was at home, it so happened that Parson Brownlow was 
coming up through Ohio on his way to Washington, after his release 
or banishment from home. He was having quite extensive ovations 
at all the principal cities, delivering at each place one of his char¬ 
acteristic speeches. One day, rather unexpectedly to me, we were told 
that the Parson would pass our place on a certain train in a few hours. 
I determined to see him, and, if possible, get a speech for our towns¬ 
people while the train stopped. Quite a crowd had gathered about 
the platform by the time the train reached us. We discovered the 
Parson on the engine. The railroad officials, who were quite atten¬ 
tive to this class of travelers, usually tender their distinguished 
guests a seat on the engine, for a better view of the scenery as the 
train is whirled over the big mountain. 

I climbed up on the engine as soon as the train stopped, followed 
by my father and several others. The Parson looked surprised, 
and I imagined for a moment that when he saw the familiar gray 
clothes making a break on him, followed by a crowd of eager per¬ 
sons so closely, that he- recalled some of his former Knoxville 
experiences among the Rebels. 

Mr. Brownlow had changed considerably since I had seen him, 
when he was wrapped up in his old shawl in his Knoxville parlor. 
He was dressed in a new suit of black broadcloth, and wore a high 
silk hat, gloves, etc., that gave him quite a clerical appearance. 

Without speaking a word for a moment, so surprised was he, he 
simply reached his hand toward me with a blank stare of aston¬ 
ishment on his countenance. To my hearty, laughing greeting, he 
soon cordially replied, recognizing me as his interviewer with Miss 
Craig, and, but for the fact that the train stopped only a moment, 
we would have had a good speech from him. 

When the train reached Altoona, twenty-five miles beyond, 
where the party were met by G. W. Childs and Mr. Stewart, as a 
committee of reception from the City of Philadelphia, and, in reply 


THE BOY SPY. 


355 


to their address of welcome, Mr. Brownlow pleasantly referred to 
“ meeting one of his rebel guard up on the mountain,” declaring 
that the Rebel ghost followed him, phantom-like, every place he 
went, night and day, always awake. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


ARRIVAL AT WASHINGTON—MEETS HON. JOHN COVODE—J. W. 
FORNEY AND SENATORS—TESTIMONY BEFORE COMMITTEE ON 
THE CONDUCT OF THE WAR—REMARKABLE INTERVIEWS WITH 
SECRETARY STANTON—A VISIT TO MR. LINCOLN, AT WASHING¬ 
TON—THE TELEGRAPH CORPS—AGAIN ORDERED TO THE FRONT, 
AT FREDERICKSBURG, VIRGINIA. 

It was my good fortune at the time of my return home to meet 
with the Hon. A. A. Barker, of Ebensburg, Pennsylvania, who had 
been a friend of the family all my life, who subsequently repre¬ 
sented that district of Pennsylvania in Congress. Mr. Barker may 
be described as being in every sense a large man. He was one of 
those great six-feet, bone-and-sinew fellows, who, as he used to say, 
“come from way down in Maine, where I was bred and born/* 
He was not only large in stature, but broad and liberal otherwise, 
with a head and heart in correct proportion. He lives yet, an hon¬ 
ored citizen and a veritable Daniel in the jDolitics of his adopted 
State, and will, I have no doubt, be glad to read in print the his¬ 
tory of his protege of the early days of the war. 

Mr. Barker took me in charge for the time being, accompanying 
me to Washington at his own expense, where I was to meet with 
my former friend, the Hon. John Covode. We went by way of 
Philadelphia, in order to again meet Parson Brownlow, who was 
then a guest of Mr. George W. Childs. 

The purpose of the visit was to obtain from Mr. Brownlow some 
additional endorsement from him, of my being in Knoxville, that 
my friends desired to use in Washington. 

In those days I cared but little for such matters, as proofs or 
evidence of work I had endeavored to perform, which, as a rule, we 
left to others to look after in my interest. It would have been bet¬ 
ter for me in those days, perhaps, if I had been blessed with a little 
bit of ordinary business management, but I confess here that I had 
but a small allowance of “business sense/' as that term is applied 
to selfish interests. I am thankful, however, for a good memory, 


THE BOY SI\ , 


357 


and really believe that, after a little quiet reflection, I can bring to 
my mind nearly everything that happened to me during the war— 
that is worth remembering. 

I was induced to say that I had but little common sense, by the 
reflection, after a lapse of twenty-five years, that I must have shown 
a lamentable lack of policy, by traveling about so defiantly at this 
time in Pennsylvania and Washington, clothed in a dirty Rebel 
uniform. This in itself was bad enough, but I was frequently so 
indiscreet as to show some boyish resentment toward every person 
whom I imagined was showing an idle curiosity as to my history. 

I became contrary, or, if you please, cranky, and indignantly 
refused to act upon the suggestion of friends, that I should make a 
change in my dress, declaring stubbornly that I should face the 
President in that uniform—and I did—at the War Department 
office in Washington; but it was a foolish thing to do, and gave me 
a heap of trouble subsequently, as we shall see. 

One of the most unlucky or unfortunate changes that had 
occurred during my long absence in Richmond was, that Simon 
Cameron had been relieved, as the Secretary of War, by the Hon. 
E. M. Stanton. 

The kind and clever old Pennsylvania statesman, who had been 
induced to take such an interest in my work, and to whom I was 
directly responsible, was, at the time of my return, away off in St. 
Petersburg, Russia, as Minister for the United States. 

Colonel Thomas A. Scott, who had been an Assistant Secretary 
of War to Mr. Cameron, and whose personal endorsement to Mr. 
Cameron had first set me going, had also been relieved by a Mr. P. 
H. Watson, who was at the time Acting Assistant Secretary to Mr. 
Stanton. 

My brother, Spencer, who, for some months previously, had been 
in the employ of the War Department as a telegraph operator, and 
whose relations with the Government officials were necessarily some' 
what of a confidential character, took me to his room in a board¬ 
ing-house on F street, where were living a number of War Depart¬ 
ment clerks. Spencer thought the fact of my wearing the Rebel 
uniform one of the best kind of jokes, and he, consequently, took 
great delight in calling the attention of all his War Department 
associates to the fact. 


358 


THE BOY SPY. 


My old and constant friend “ Glory to God,” as the Hon. John 
Covode was called, was the only man of prominence in Washing¬ 
ton that I knew, or who had any knowledge of my previous under¬ 
takings. He was a Member of Congress from a Pennsylvania Dis¬ 
trict adjoining my own home, near Pittsburgh. Congress was in 
session at this time, and it so happened that, for some months pre¬ 
viously Mr. Covode had been stirring things up in the House at a 
lively rate, by his persistent investigation of our military men and 
movements in Virginia. There had been an investigation of Bull 
Run, of Balks Bluff massacre, of old Patterson, in Pennsylvania, 
and, more recently, a great hubbub had been raised all over the coun¬ 
try about General McClellan’s failure, or slowness, in moving “on 
to Richmond ” via Manassas. 

There was, indeed, a great deal of this sort of thing going on, 
the details of which had been ground up and sifted through the 
one joint “Committee on the Conduct of the War,” of which Mr. 
Covode was chairman. To make a long story short, all will see— 
to use a vulgar term—that my arrival was “just nuts to Old Glory,” 
as some one told me. If an angel had dropped down from the sky 
to corroborate the honest old man’s assertion, it would not have 
been more opportune. 

I had been inside the Rebel lines for months. I had obtained 
the Rebel opinions, officially, of Manassas, after the battle, and knew 
the exact strength of the Rebel Army was not one-half as large as 
McClellan’s scare had represented it to be. I had heard the com¬ 
ments of the Rebel Secretary of War on Ball’s Bluff massacre. Mr. 
Covode could, and did, endorse me as a “reliable devil,” as he put 
it, in the committee room, and, of course, I was willing enough to 
be of service to my old friend, and was glad that I was able to sub¬ 
stantiate nearly all of his statements. 

The morning of my arrival m Washington, I hunted up Mr. 
Covode, and found him in his rooms at the old Avenue Hotel, the 
large, plain, old affair, that once stood at the corner of Seventh and 
Market Space. I was an early caller, and, without a card, knocked 
at his door before he was out of bed. To his sleepy growl of 
“Who’s there?” I simply gave my name. There was only one 
word of reply, “Helioa,” in a loud emphatic tone; then in a more 
moderate voice, he continued, as if talking to himself: “Wait a, 





HE SEEMED TO HAV'E FORGOTTEN ALL ABOUT DRESSING HIMSELF. 














































































































































































































































































THE BOY SPY. 


369 


minute. I got word you were coming, and have been expecting 
you every day.” 

The door opened, and the great Pennsylvania statesman stood 
before me—in his robe de unit —grinning all over, with his hair all 
mussed up and his bare legs sticking out under his shirt. 

He was about as funny a looking object as anything I had met 
with in my travels. He wasn't embarrassed, hut, as he shook hands, 
I was drawn inside, and the door closed with a hang. All that was 
said that morning would make quite a chapter. 

The circumstance which remains strongest in my mind to-day 
is, that he sat on the edge of the bed, and asked question after ques¬ 
tion in such an interested way that he seemed to me to have for¬ 
gotten all about dressing himself. I was for the time being more 
interested in seeing him get some clothes on than in the fate of 
McClellan's army. 

After breakfast, Mr. Covode took me to the Capitol, and the first 
person I met there was Colonel J. W. Forney, then editor of the 
Philadelphia Press, and also Secretary of the Senate. Mr. Forney 
impressed me most favorably; in truth, I felt more at home with 
him than with my old friend Covode—probably because Mr. Forney 
had the tact of drawing out his subjects and was more able to prac¬ 
tice the suave gentleman than was the sturdy, honest old John. I 
was for a time taken in charge by Mr. Forney, who, in turn, intro¬ 
duced me to several Senators, among them the lion. Edgar Cowan, 
of Pennsylvania. I remember Mr. Forney saying, in an aside to 
Senator Cowan, and the others to whom I was introduced, “He is 
a capital subject.'' Mr. Forney did me another valuable service at 
this time. Of course I had no money; I had been depending upon 
the generous pocketbook of my good friend Barker. I made Mr. 
Forney and Mr. Covode acquainted with my circumstances, by a 
request for some immediate and active employment to enable me to 
earn my expenses. 

Mr. Forney had a clerk make out some sort of a “voucher,” 
which I think must have been for mileage and witness fees all over 
the Rebel country that I had traversed, another clerk cashed the 
paper for me, and, in this way, I was furnished at once with quite 
a nice little pile of crisp, new greenbacks from the Secretary of 
the Senate. 


SCO 


THE BOY SPY. 


This was the first and only cash that I have ever received for all 
those months of service—of trial, distress and danger—excepting 
that which the good comrades who will contribute by subscribing 
for these “recollections of the unforgotten days to all of us.” 

Amongst the other members of the Pennsylvania delegation, to 
whom I was introduced that morning, was the lion. S. S. Blair, 
then and now a resident of Hollidaysburg, Pennsylvania. As Mr. 
Blair is the sole survivor of those who were with me at that time, I 
desire particularly that his testimony should be added to establish 
the correctness of my narrative, or to serve as a review notice, if it 
ever attains to the distinction of a criticism or becomes the subject 
of a controversy. 

The Hon. J. K. Morehead, who represented Pittsburgh, was 
another of the delegation in my interest. Thus it will be seen that, 
through the management of Mr. Forney, the entire Western Penn¬ 
sylvania delegation, including Senator Cowan, of G-reensburg, Penn¬ 
sylvania, had been interested in my “report.” 

As I have before stated, I paid but little attention to these 
details at the time. I had but the one request, and, as before, which 
was, that I should be commissioned as a Second Lieutenant in the 
Regular Cavalry Service and detailed on the General Staff, in active 
field service. I wanted to go at once to the field, and cared but little 
for the “effect of my testimony” before the committee, or the 
pecuniary reward for the. service. 

Mr. Forney said, in his pleasant way, that was so grateful to me 
that I have not forgotten a word of it: “Why, certainly, you must 
have that at least, if not more; ” but, turning to Covode, he con¬ 
tinued : “Curtin can do better than that for us.” 

Covode thought anything whatever that I wanted could be done, 
but suggested, kindly, that it would be better for me not to take a 
commission in the Volunteers of Pennsylvania, because I should 
have to be ]3ut in over the heads of some others, and that would 
make it ugly for me personally. 

I agreed with Mr. Covode heartily in that. I had been in the 
Rebel service long enough to see that this sort of thing didn't work 
there, because Claiborne, the Mississippi Lieutenant, was really 
treated as a foreigner, or outsider, by the rest of us “refugees from 
Maryland.” So it was arranged between them that I should h*ve 


THE BOY SPY. 


$61 

a commission in the Regular Army. In support of this, Mr. Forney 
kindly talked to Senator Cowan in my behalf, who expressed some 
doubts about getting a Lieutenantcy, saying in his plain way : 

“Why, we may just as well ask the Secretary to make him a 
Brigadier-General; he can do that, because they are making Generals 
every day, but they are not making any Lieutenants in the Regular 
Army.” 

But Mr. Forney insisted in his agreeable way : “But, my dear 
sir, here is a young man who has done our State—who has done the 
Government more service than some of our Generals; he has been 
all over Virginia, and knows all about the Rebel Army, and all 
about Richmond—from personal visits; why,” with an expression 
of disgust, “ his services are simply indispensable at this time; he 
should be sent down to the army, where the information he has 
gained will be of immediate use to us. ” 

The only answer that Senator Cowan made to this appeal, as he 
looked me all over critically, as he would if buying a horse. “You 
have the right sort of grit in you, but I don’t believe we can get it.” 

It was arranged between them all that I should first give my testi¬ 
mony before the Joint Committee on the Conduct of the War. Mr. 
Covode and Mr. Forney quietly conferred among themselves (they 
were Republicans and Senator Cowan a Democrat), and concluded 
that only a small part of my history should be made public at present. 

I don’t know why this was thought necessary, but while Mr. 
Covode and I walked together over to the committee room on the 
House side of the Capitol, he cautioned me, in his fatherly way, not 
to talk too much, and to answer only such questions as he would sug¬ 
gest. 

On page 480, volume 3, of the printed document containing the 
report of the Committe on the Conduct of the War, will be found 
only that portion of my testimony that Mr. Covode and Mr. Forney, 
as my political managers, thought advisable to put on record at the 
time. The full story was detailed at different times to Mr. Forney 
and Mr. Covode, and others, but has never been made fully public 
until the present time. 

After I had finished my testimony to suit Mr. Covode, and had 
been severely cross-examined by some of the opposition members of 
the committee, I was told through my friend Covode, that I should 


THE BOY SPY 


J62 

make myself perfectly comfortable; that he and the rest of the delev 
gation would see that I was properly cared for. 

I felt that a great load had been taken oft* my shoulders in this 
one day—that the secrets of my trip, which I had been carrying' 
around with me, among Rebels and friends for months, had been 
safely deposited with the Government, and that I was at last free, 
and could do as I pleased once more. 

I had worn the Rebel uniform to the Capitol and into the 
committee room, and gave my testimony standing at “ attention ” 
in it. 

In giving my full testimony to the Committee on the Conduct of 
the War, I had no thought of antagonizing the War Department. 
My secret service was, in a manner, “irregular,” and, instead of 
reporting direct to the War Office or to a General in the field, I was 
induced to give the story to a committee that was investigating 
both. In this way it was not “ suppressed ” in anybody’s interest, 
but afterward had the effect of antagonizing certain War Depart¬ 
ment detectives against my subsequent services, as will be shown 
further on. 

The first thing that I did with some of the money which had 
been given me was to trim myself out from head to foot in the best 
suit of clothes that I could find in Washington, but I preserved the 
uniform for future use. The next number on the programme was 
to take my brother and some of his friends to “Gautier’s”—which 
was then the celebrated French restaurant—or, Chamberlains, of 
to-day, in Washington, where we indulged in a generous lay-out. 
The third number on the programme, I will simply describe as 
“making a night of it.” We all went to the Canterbury and had 
a pleasant evening together, while I told the party of similar experi¬ 
ences at night in the Rebel Capitol at Richmond. 

While I remained in Washington waiting for an office, like the 
office-seekers that now hang about the Departments, I remember 
that I was continually worried with the dreadful thought that 
McClellan’s great army of good-looking officers would get there 
while I was being tethered, like a young steer, in the Capitol. 

My case was “left entirely in the hands of my friends”—that is, 
I had nothing whatever to do with it but to wait, which was about 
the most difficult part of the job. As I recollect it, Mr. Covode 


TIIE BOY SPY. 


S$3 


was not on such particularly good terms with Mr. Stanton as he had 
been with the Pennsylvania Secretary, General Simon Cameron. 

It is likely, too, that Mr. Covode’s disposition to be continually 
“investigating things,” caused the new administration of the War 
Department some annoyance. Covode was naturally Cameron’s 
champion, because they were both Pennsylvania politicians—if for 
no other reason. On account of some such feeling as this, perhaps, 
it was thought advisable among my “managers” that Mr. Covode 
should not personally bother Mr. Stanton—in my interest; that 
part of the contract was to be left to Senator Cowan and John W. 
Forney, while Covode was to see Mr. Lincoln. 

I loafed about the Capitol a great deal during the session each 
day, and I reckon, in my persistence and restlessness, that I bothered 
these statesmen a good bit. I had assurances from Mr. Covode 
every day that “it was all right,” but I remembered that this was 
the exact way in which he talked to me on the former visit, and I 
was blunt enough to remind him of this truth, when he promptly 
got it back on me by saying: 

“It would have been all right, too, if you had come back here, 
but we all thought you were dead for so long. ” 

He explained over and over again that the War Office was so 
crowded, on account of the spring campaign, that it was impossible 
to do anything there in a rush. 

One day Senator Cowan, of Pennsylvania, handed me a very brief 
note, which read as follows, bluntly directing me to go to the War 
Department and watch my chance to present it personally to Mr. 
Stanton. 

“ Hon. E. M. Stanton, Secretary of War. 

(( Dear Sir: The bearer is the young man who has given 
important testimony to the committee, about whom papers have 
been filed for an appointment where he can do the most good. It 
is suggested that you may be able to learn something additional 
of value from him. Yours truly, 

“Edgar Cowan.” 

The Senator didn’t give me a chance to ask him any questions, but 
left me abruptly to talk to a group of persons who were waiting for 
him. I saw Mr. Forney and showed him the letter, which some¬ 
how or other was not satisfactorv to me 


THE BOY SPY. 


364 


Mr. Forney folded it up and handed it back to me, saying, in 
his elegant way: “You just take that paper up to Stanton, and 
hang to him till he sees you. That’s all he wants. ” Then, in a 
fatherly way, he gave me the advice to “let him do all the talking; 
you just answer his questions.” 

In an hour I was at the old War Department again. I first put 
on my gray jacket, but had covered it with a light spring duster or 
overcoat, at Mr. Forney’s suggestion. 

The War Department of 1862 was a desolate looking old affair, 
something after the architectural style of the “ four story barracks,” 
in a well-kept arsenal reservation. On the second floor a long cor¬ 
ridor extended from one end of the building to the other, running 
east and west, on each side of which were the rooms of the princi¬ 
pal chiefs. In the southeast corner, nearest to the White House, 
was the Secretary’s apartments, with whose location I was somewhat 
familiar, because of some previous long “waits” and mighty short 
interviews with Mr. Cameron when he was Secretary. 

On this visit, as before, I found in this corridor rows of people 
seated along the wall—ladies and gentlemen, officers, and a few sick- 
looking soldiers; big fat contractors elbowed the thin-faced, big- 
nosed, Jewish sutler. Congressmen, and, in fact, all sorts of people; 
and it is safe to say that every one of them had been there for hours, 
perhaps days and weeks previously, waiting their turn, or an oppor¬ 
tunity to get to talk to the Secretary on their own business, which, 
of course, was more important to them than anybody else’s. 

There was a handsome soldier of the Regular Army in citizen’s 
dress on duty at the outside door, as an orderly or messenger. 
When I saw all that were ahead of me, I was discouraged, but, 
profiting by past experience, I made a break for the Secretary’s 
office, when I was stopped by the orderly, who demanded my busi¬ 
ness. I was in a Rebel uniform, but the soldier orderly didn’t notice 
that; he said his orders were not to admit anybody at that time. I 
showed him my letter, saying, with an assumption of importance, 
that; I was sent to the Secretary by Senator Cowan to present it 
personally. A Senator, especially a Democratic Senator’s request, 
was really of greater weight than half a dozen common Congressmen, 
because it was important just then that the Government should con¬ 
ciliate the loyal Democrats in Congress. 


THE BOY SPY. 


S65 


The soldier took a card, wrote the Senator’s name and my own on 
it, and invited me to a vacant chair in the Secretary's office. There 
were rows of people sitting alongside the wall, inside the room, just 
as there was out in the corridor; but I had gained one point; I was 
on the inner circle. 

I had never seen Mr. Stanton before, and was not nearly so anx¬ 
ious to see him again, after the first time. I need not describe the 
great War Secretary's personal apj)earance. His face resembles the 
photographs, and has always struck me as being the best likeness 
extant of all those great men. He was not so tall as one would think 
from looking at a picture of his face; and when I saw him, he stood 
at a small, high desk, a little to one side of the room, very much to 
my mind in the position of a school-teacher before an old-fashioned 
desk. The desk itself was a plain, square, long-legged affair, pre¬ 
cisely such as we used to see our teachers stand behind, or that are 
used more recently by auctioneers on street sales. The sitters on 
the anxious benches all around the front portion of his room, with 
their serious watchful faces, helped the illusion, that I was in the 
presence of a lecturer or judge, awaiting my turn for sentence, like 
the rest of the culprits. 

The attendant found me a chair alongside of a natty-looking 
young officer in uniform on one side,and a big, fat Congressman on 
the other; he laid my card, with the Senator's name, on Mr. Stan¬ 
ton's desk. 

The Secretary was then standing beside his pulpit, talking in his 
positive way to some old gentleman; he was so intent on this business 
that he never deigned, to look at my card when it was left on his 
table. We did not overhear the conversation between the Secretary 
and his visitor, and being at a loss for something to do, I turned to 
the young officer beside me and said something as to the prospect for 
a talk with the Secretary. He replied in a very polite way, that he 
had been waiting for hours, for a single word; that, with him, it 
was a question of life and death; but he couldn't get any audience 
until the Secretary called his name" from the cards on his desk. 

The young man had so impressed me by his courteous manner 
that I became curious to know his errand, which he explained in a 
whispered conversation. He was just from the bedside of a dying 
father, on his way to rejoin his commaud, his leave having expired; 


366 


THE BOY SPY. 


lie had stopped at Washington, and, upon the endorsement of influen¬ 
tial Congressmen, he had called to ask the Secretary to extend his 
leave so that he might be at his father’s bedside and bury him 
before leaving for the army. The officer told me all of this in a 
trembling voice, while his eyes were filled with tears. I felt so 
much sympathy for him that I offered to give him my time if my 
name should be called before his. At my'urgent suggestion, when 
the old gentleman was about-to leave the Secretary, the young- 
officer approached Mr. Stanton, who bluntly demanded his name. 
Then looking over his file of papers to what his business was, while 
the young fellow in the most genteel and effective way stated his 
wishes to the Secretary. I shall never, never forget the words that 
Mr. Stanton spoke on that occasion; they “sank deeply into my 
heart,” perhaps, as also into that of the young officer. 

“I cannot extend your leave, but I will accept your resignation!” 
As he said this, he handed to the officer the papers he had filed. 
Looking him over in a contemptous way, the Secretary turned to 
look after the next victim on his list. The officer mildly protested, 
saying: “ Why, Mr. Secretary I do not want to leave the service; I 
merely want to spend the last days—” 

Here he was roughly interrupted by Mr. Stanton who repeated 
in an angry tone, so that all could hear: “I’ll accept your resigna¬ 
tion, sir.” 

The poor fellow would not consent to be driven from the service 
in this way, even to attend his father’s last wishes. When he 
returned to pick up his hat, which had been left on the chair beside 
me, his face was white, and his hands trembled so that he could 
scarcely take hold of his hat. I assisted him, and together we left 
the Secretary’s office in deep disgust. I had enough for one day. 
After reporting the incident to Mr. Covode and others, they mildly 
laughed at my indignation, while they expressed the cold-blooded 
opinion that it was only one of Stanton’s ordinary jokes. 

Aftei this, I was more than ever anxious to get out of Washing¬ 
ton, and began to feel that I should be willing to take anything at 
all, that savored of active service in the field, being perfectly con¬ 
tent to leave my personal business with Mr. Stanton in the hands of 
my friends. It was decided among them all that I should be tak'm 
to the White House to see Mr. Lincoln, personally. All the arrang z 


THE BOY SPY. 


367 


menfcs for tins visit were made, as nearly as I can recollect, without 
consulting me about it in any way at all. It was generally under¬ 
stood, I reckon, that I needed somebody to properly present my busi¬ 
ness affairs, and that it was hardly worth while to bother with me 
about such things. I only know that I was told by Mr. Covode to 
get ready to accompany him to the White House. 

“ We are all going up in General Moorehead’s carriage and want 
you to be on hand sure, as its hard to get them all together.” 1 
didn’t know who “ they ” were, until I came down to his room 
rigged out in a grey jacket. While we were waiting for the car¬ 
riage to come around for us, Mr. Covode explained further: 
“ We’re going to make a demand on the President for your pay out 
of the secret-service fund.” 

I had only heard in a general way that anything of this sort was 
contemplated. I can say here again, sincerely, that my only desire 
and aim was for a commission in the Regular Army, and a detail on 
the Staff, where I should have a chance for active service in the 
field. While we waited Mr. Covode explained more fully : 

“ You are entitled to this; the fund is being squandered shame¬ 
fully by certain influences,* who are making the President believe 
that they are giving him valuable information. We all know your 
service and experience has been of some practical use, and you are 
going to be paid for it, too, in cash as well as in promotion.” 

He had a way of saying things in a very emphatic style when 
he became interested, when I expressed my thanks for his interest 
and proffered a remuneration, he began to talk bad grammar 
at me in such a way that I had to beg off. 

The carriage called ; in it were Senator Cowan, General J. K. 
Moorehead, M. C., from Pittsburgh; Hon. S. S. Blair, of Iloli- 
daysburg, and Hon. John Covode. I jumped up with the coach¬ 
man, and we made a charge on the White House. Before we started 
off there was a short but pointed business consultation among 
them. Senator Cowan had suggested : “Now we had better have 
an understanding before we go up there.” 

General Moorhead agreed that this was necessary; and when I 
undertook to make a suggestion about getting Mr. Lincoln to give 
me a commission, Covode told me in polite terms but decided lan¬ 
guage, but in a fatherly way: “Now you’ve got to keep quiet.” 


S68 


TEE BOY SPY. 


The rest all thought this quite a funny remark. When Covode 
crawled into the carriage, Mr. Moorehead said, “ Well, what’s the 
programme?” Covode explained that it was to he a demand for 
pay from the President’s secret-service fund. No one had even 
suggested the amount, and I reckon Mr. Covode’s idea was to leave 
this discretionary with the President, but Mr Blair and Moorehead, 
who were business men as well as statesmen, insisted that it would 
be better to settle a sum in advance. 

“Make it enough, said Mr. Blair.” 

“Yes, we may just as well make it $10,000,” observed the Sena¬ 
tor. 

Mr. Moorehead shrewdly suggested: “We have to appropriate 
this secret-service money anyhow, and our votes will go for this 
amount.” 

Covode admitted that, “We have given him hundreds of thou¬ 
sands of dollars for this use already.” 

This, in a general way was the plan and purpose of the visit to 
Mr. Lincoln on that date. 

It failed—not that the claim was rejected by the President—it 
was never presented to him or anybody else. When we reached the 
White House we were informed on the threshold that “the Presi¬ 
dent had that day gone to Fortress Monroe.” That ended it for 
that day, and for all time. Soon after, I left Washington for 
another trip. The same crowd were never again brought together in 
this interest. As I have said, I was not a good manager, and per 
haps neglected my own interests in this respect. 

I have to show my children, however, that which is dearer to me 
than gold—a commission as a Second Lieutenant signed by Abraham 
Lincoln and E. M. Stanton. That will remain for all time on the 
war records of my country. If I had secured this money, I might 
have failed in obtaining this commission, and no doubt the $10,000 
would have soon disappeared from sight forever and no record of it 
left. 

A few days after this visit—the date of which may be lixed by 
a reference to the books, which will indicate the time of Mr. Lin¬ 
coln’s visit to Fortress Monroe—I saw Mr. Stanton personally, but 
only for a moment; he was not such a dreadful person after all, as 
I expected to find him. 


THE BOY SPY. 


369 


Since I had been a disgusted witness to the abrupt interview 
between Mr. Secretary Stanton and the young officer who desired 
his leave extended that he might visit his dying father, I was not 
particularly anxious to encounter the Secretary at close range. I 
had said as much so emphatically to Mr. Covode and the other 
friends, all of whom laughed at my earnestness, and consoled me 
with the remark that they had all suffered in the same way at • the 
War Office, and that I must not expect to be welcomed with open 
arms by Mr. Stanton. It was no good to explain to them that I 
didn't want to be welcomed, or kicked out either. I was told that I 
must see Mr. Stanton; that they could do nothing for me without 
first securing his approval. I recall in this connection an old 
chestnut, which explains in reality pretty nearly the true status of 
affairs between the President and his Secretary of War. In con¬ 
versation with a group of friends about my ‘‘case,” Mr. Covode 
had expressed the conviction that for him to interfere with Stanton 
would only operate against my chances, as he was thought to be a 
meddlesome investigator; and another Congressman related the 
story about Mr. Lincoln telling an importunate office-seeker that 
he, the President, “ didn't have very much influence with this 
administration." 

I called at the War Office several times, and always found the 
same old crowd in the corridors, and, though I was somewhat 
“fresh" and impulsive, I could not raise the courage to face the 
grim old Secretary, because he was always engaged with somebody, 
and I feared to intrude or interrupt him with my personal affairs. 

As I have said previously, I had a brother, who was employed in 
the War Department Telegraph Office, but as his hours for duty were 
at night, I could not avail myself of this opportunity to loaf with 
him. One day, however, after so much annoying delay; I put on 
my Rebel jacket, screwed up my courage, and determined to settle 
the matter by a bold dash on the War Office. My brother accom¬ 
panied me, and, while waiting in the ante-room of the telegraph 
office, I had a long and quite an agreeable chat with General Anson 
Stager, who had charge of all the military telegraph. The General, 
in those days, was quite a jolly, good-natured gentleman; and, in 
this respect, almost the opposite to his subordinate, Major Eckert, 
who was very dignified in his bearing toward his subordinates. I 


THE B07 SPT. 


370 

was young and not unobserving, and I noticed that Major Eckert 
always lost his dignity and high-and-miglity bearing, when he had 
any dealings with his superiors. General Stager was alike to all. 

General Stager became much interested in my secret service 
more especially in that part wherein I had attached myself to the 
Rebel telegraph office at General Beauregard’s headquarters, from 
whence I could overhear all the messages between headquarters and 
Richmond. General Stager laughed heartily at my recital of these 
events. He looked at my rebel jacket with interest, took hold of 
my arm to critically examine the texture of the cloth, and wound 
up by saying: 

“Well, you certainly are an acquisition to us, and I ’want you in 
our service.” 

When I explained my desire to obtain a commission, that I 
might get into active service, the General endeavored in a kindly 
way to persuade me saying: 

“It wasn’t worth while to do that; they could pay me more 
salary than a commission as Second Lieutenant w T ould bring beside 
I should be allowed all the liberty I chose at the front, being at 
headquarters as a civilian, furnished with a horse or ambulance, 
and all the rations I could consume, and independent of the mili¬ 
tary.” 

He made it very attractive indeed; but I resisted the tempta¬ 
tion, determined to stick to my plans. I had expressed a willingness 
to do or undertake any special service, but I wanted to be an officer. 
After consultation with some one in another room, who was either 
the Secretary himself or some of the high officials in the Adjutant- 
General’s Department, General Stager came back to me and clinched 
that which came very near being a nail in my coffin. He proposed 
something like this: 

“The army is on the peninsula, and Washington is cut off in a 
manner from telegraph communication with them, except by means 
of a dispatch boat to the nearest point on the Maryland side of the 
Chesapeake, from which the telegraph is open to Washington. If 
you could open communication for us, overland —say from Fred¬ 
ericksburg, or the outposts of our forces there, to connect with 
McClellan on the Peninsula by courier service—it would be a good 
thing for us, as we could hear from our army so much quicker.” 


/ 


TEE BOY SPY, 


371 


Everybody will appreciate the anxiety of the officials to hear 
from the Army promptly and frequently. In other words, I was to 
operate secretly between our lines below Fredericksburg and McClel- 
) an's advance, only a gap of a few miles, but not occupied by either 
army but infested with “guerillas.” 

I accepted the proposition without a moment's thought about 
the probable difficulties that were to be met with in carrying out 
the undertaking, and I had been over that country in Virginia and 
was familiar with it. I was anxious to do anything that would give 
me an opportunity for active service. 

My brother interposed some objections, which General Stager 
thoughtfully considered, and, after admonishing me of the danger 
in my case, he again proffered service in the telegraph department. 
It was arranged between us that I should call again on the fol¬ 
lowing day; meantime he would consult with some of the officers 
and ascertain their wishes in regard to the matter. 

General Eckert, who was in the room, had overheard part of my 
story—he had not been consulted at all by General Stager—to my 
mind, showed in his manner some little resentment toward me, 
probably because of the interest that General Stager had seemingly 
taken in my. affairs. 

He felt impelled to make some remark, intended to be jocular, 
about a Rebel uniform being in the War Department. I didn't pay 
much attention to it at the time, arid probably would not have ob¬ 
served the circumstance had not several others, who were present, 
made it a subject of conversation among themselves at our dinner- 
table that day. 

In leaving the War Department Building that day, I walked out 
by the basement or east door* nearest the White House, intending 
to take the short cut, through the White House grounds, to our 
boarding-house on F street. 

Just as I passed out of the door my quick eye detected President 
Lincoln coming up the few stone steps into the door-way; as he 
slowly walked or shuffled along, he was apparently reading the con¬ 
tents of a paper, which he held before his eyes with both hands. 
I had seen Mr. Lincoln inaugurated, and frequently since. I recogn¬ 
ized him at a glance, and to get a closer look, I respectfully stood 
to one side of the steps to let him pass. A gentleman was walking 


372 


THE BOY SPY. 


alongside of the President, and as the two passed the President be¬ 
came crowded quite close to me, and actually touched or rubbed 
against my Rebel uniform. Mr. Lincoln apparently did not see me; 
he was too deeply immersed in reading, or trying to read, the letter 
he held in his hand as he walked, while the gentlemen with him 
was gabbling in his ear in a very earnest manner. 

So it happened, as I had predicted, when my home friends had 
shown their opposition to my wearing the gray, that I saw Mr. 
Lincoln while dressed in my Rebel uniform. I had shaken hands 
with “the other President”—Jeff Davis—in Richmond, only a 
short time previously, while attired in the same court dress. 

This “interview” wasn’t exactly as satisfactory to me as it 
might have been, if I had been presented by the delegation that 
had called with me a few days sooner. But I had “seenthe Presi¬ 
dent,” and, as there had been such a great opportunity presented 
for some further secret service in my line, I didn’t care very much 
just then whether I should again get the crowd together for another 
call or not. 

That evening I saw Mr. Covode, to whom I related my inter¬ 
view with General Stager, telling him of the plan upon which 1 
had agreed to make the trip to Richmond again. The old man put 
on his specks, looked over the top of them at me in a curious sort 
of way, and said, rather savagely : “ You beat hell, you do.” Then 
in a more moderate tone- he protested earnestly against it, saying: 
“You mustn’t let everybody make use of you that way.” 

When I explained that I was only desirous of getting out of Wash¬ 
ington, and anxious to be on hand in the field when Richmond was 
taken, and intimated further that Mr. Stanton and the President 
would give me the commission on sight if I should come in first 
with some good news, he remonstrated earnestly: “Oh, yes; you go 
down there again in that shape, and you wont need any commission; 
they will hang you, sure, to the first tree.” 

I had to leave the old man without getting any encouragement 
from him, but had given him a promise, before saying “ Good-night,” 
that I would not do anything further in the matter until I saw him 
again; in the meantime he urged me to see Mr. Stanton. 

I went to bed that night very much disturbed in mind. While 
I was not so very anxious to continue the secret-service work, I felt 


THE BOY SPY. 


373 


so worn-out and disappointed at the dilatoriness in getting anything 
settled in Washington toward a commission, that I was about 
ready to both give it up and to try again. We were continually 
hearing so much that was exciting from the front, that I was really 
half wild and in a fever of impatience to be on hand among the 
boys. 

The next day I called at the War Office early, determined to see 
Mr. Stanton, or at least make a sure thing of his seeing me before 
I should again leave. 

I had preserved Senator Cowan’s letter and with it in my hand 
I made an onslaught on the regular orderly at the door. He had 
gotten to know me, and pleasantly suggested: 

“ If you hang to it with your teeth, you will get all you want.” 

With his assistance I got my card in to the Secretary, and was 
again shown a seat inside the Secretary’s room, to wait until my 
name was called. 

lu addition to the regular Crowd, there seemed to be a delega¬ 
tion of some kind in an adjoining room, as I judged from the loud 
talking. The Secretary came out of the room, but, before he could 
reach his pulpit, he was called back; then, in a few minutes, he 
again made his appearance in the doorway, talking back to those 
inside in his usual vigorous style. Feeling desperate, and always 
impulsive, I made a bold break and handed the Secretary my letter 
before he reached his desk, being careful to prelude my intrusion 
by saying : “Senator Cowan directed me to hand you this person¬ 
ally.” 

With a sharp glance of impatience at me, he took the letter, 
walked to his desk, and, without opening it, began to deliberately 
look over his pile of cards. I stood my ground, right in front of 
him, feeling very much like a guilty school-boy who had been called 
up by his teacher for punishment. 

When Mr. Stanton raised his eyes from the cards and spied me, 
still standing in front of him, he looked towards me then as if 
remembering the letter, and said to me : “ Where is the note from 
Senator Cowan ? ” 

« I gave it to you, Mr. Secretary,” said I tremblingly. 

He looked around, found the envelope, and, while he read it, I 
felt in my soul that I would rather face Jelf Davis and the whole 


THE BOY SPY. 


374 

Rebel Army again than the Secretary of War. T resolved, it 1 ever 
got out of that alive, Fd risk anything in the front rather than go 
back into that room and face the Secretary of War. 

When he finished reading the letter, he looked me over earnestly 
as he folded it up slowly. It will be remembered that this paper 
referred to me as having been every place in the South; that I had 
a most valuable experience, etc. 

The Secretary astonished me by saying, in the most agreeable 
and gentle tones, as he looked benevolently through his glasses; 
“I would like to talk with you, but I’m engaged, and I will have 
to refer you to the Assistant-Secretary to-day.” 

I was too scared to make an immediate reply. The Secretary, 
calling the orderly to him, said to him, as he endorsed something on 
the bottom of my letter: “Take this gentleman to the Assistant- 
Secretary.” 

That was all, but that was enough for me for one day. If there 
was any one person in all Washington City for whom, or against 
whom, I entertained an unjust prejudice—I might say, a deep-seated 
hatred—it was Mr. P. H. Watson, the Assistant-Secretary of War. 

I had never met him; in fact, I had never seen him; but the 
simple fact that he had taken the place of my old friend Colonel 
Thomas A. Scott in the War Office, since Cameron’s removal, was 
of itself sufficient to turn me against him; but, in addition to this 
fact, I had gathered from Mr. Covode and the rest of the Pennsyl¬ 
vania delegation, as well as the telegraph boys in the War Depart¬ 
ment, that Mr. Watson, and his clique of friends, had scandalously 
maligned Mr. Scott personally and abused Mr. Cameron politically. 

I was ushered into the presence of a large, red-headed, sandy- 
complexioned man, to whom I was introduced, as the young man 
Mr. Secretary had “directed to present to you.” 

Mr. Watson, at the moment we entered, was busy with some 
papers. He was surrounded by clerks, occupying other desks in 
his room, but at once dropped everything to receive us. Upon 
reading the Senator’s letter and the Secretary’s endorsement, he at 
once became very gracious toward me. And, as he shook hands 
and drew me to a chair near him, and began some complimentary 
remarks about my “valuable services,” I was not only disappointed 
at the Secretary in having said not a word about the matter which 


THE BOY SPY. 


S75 


was uppermost in my mind, but I was also really angry at being 
handed over to Mr. Watson in a second-handed manner to be 
pumped by him. Therefore, I didn’t pump worth a cent. I was 
dry. Mr. Watson made it worse for me by the first question he 
put . “1 presume you are in Mr. Pinkerton’s service.” That was 

adding insult. I resented this insinuation by asserting emphatically : 
“1 am not a detective at all.” 

The interview did not last long, so there is not much to say 
about it here; in fact, it ended rather abruptly, when Mr. Watson 
further suggested that I should put myself in communication with 
Mr. Pinkerton, who had charge of all these things. I want to 
make it as plain right here to all who may read this story as 
I did to Mr. Watson twenty-five years ago, that I reject witli 
scorn and contempt the intimation that I was a detective, working 
for money. I declined positively to have any communication with 
the Chief of the Secret Service, and told Mr. Watson, as my friends 
had all frequently suggested, that I had done important secret-serv¬ 
ice work for the Secretary of the War Department, direct , and I 
wanted something now wherein I could make available my past 
experiences. 

As I had promised Mr. Covode not to make any engagements 
with any one, and had fulfilled my agreement to see the Secretary, 
i retired from the War Office in disappointment and disgust. 

I saw Mr. Covode and the other friends, to whom I related my 
experience with Mr. Stanton and Mr. Watson, and, at the same time, 
declared my intention to leave the city for the front, and enter the 
army as a private soldier, and work my way up to position by meri- 
torous service in front of the enemy, instead of in the rear. 

The day following, before I could get an opportunity to again 
see General Stager in regard to his proposal, or take any action my¬ 
self, Mr. Covode sent for me. When I reached his room he said, in 
his blunt way: 

“ If you are bound to be in the field. I’ll give you a letter to 
General Haupt, who has charge of the railroad between Fredericks¬ 
burg and Aquia Creek, and he will give you something to do to 
keep you busy down there till we can get something fixed up here.” 

I eagerly accepted this proposal; it was not what I wanted 
exactly, but it admitted of my going to the front, and that, too, in an 


876 


THE BOY SPY. 


official position, wherein I could be on band and, unmolested, see 
everything that was being done. I had known General Haupt well, 
as the accomplished Chief Engineer of the Pennsylvania Railroad, 
and Mr. Covode had been assured by him, it seems, that he would 
be delighted to have me in his Military Railroad Service, as I had 
experience in that direction in Mr. ScottV service. 

We were going to re-build that road right into Richmond the- 
next week, and I consoled myself with the thought that, if I did not 
reenter Richmond on a horse as an officer, that I might get there 
all the same on a locomotive. 

I was to be paid a good salary and expenses. All my friends 
thought it just splendid, and I imagine now, though I didn’t think 
so at the time, that the position was created for me just to prevent 
my getting into trouble again. In a few days I took a morning 
steamer, armed with an official pass and a bundle of good clothing, 
and sailed with the greatest anticipations of quickly seeing Richmond. 
We reached Aquia Creek in a few hours—this, as all the boys will 
know, was then the leading place or connecting point between the 
steamers and the railroads to Richmond. After strolling about 
there for an hour, I got aboard the first train, which was made up 
of open truck cars, and we rolled over the ten or twelve miles past 
the straggling camps of our forces then thereabouts, crossing the 
high and hastily-improvised trestle of bridges that had been built 
by “ sojers,” in the place of those destroyed. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


GENO—FREDERICKSBURG — A CHAPTER OF WAR HISTORY NOT IN 

• The Century papers. 

It will be remembered that, on a previous occasion, I had made 
an entree into the town of Fredericksburg, on the bare back of an 
old horse, on the morning in August after the night of horror in 
which I was pursued by Rebels, suffering from the attack of blood¬ 
hounds. 

On the occasion of this, my second visit, I rolled over the tem¬ 
porary railroad bridge into the. old depot at Fredericksburg on a 
freight train, dressed—well, in the best store clothes that money 
would buy at that time in Washington. 

I am not sure of the exact date on which I gpt into Fredericks¬ 
burg, en route to Richmond; it does not matter much, as I do not 
pretend to have kept an accurate record of the dates, however, it was 
along in April or May, judging by my recollection of the weather at 
that time. McClellan's great Army of the Potomac was on the 
Peninsula only a few miles from Richmond, while Fitz-John Porter 
had been up to Hanover Court House, about half way between 
Fredericksburg and Richmond. General McDowell was in com¬ 
mand of quite a large, but, as I recollect it, a widley scattered and 
very much mixed up force at Fredericksburg. 

The problem was to unite McClellan's and McDowell's forces 
against Richmond. There was just this little gap of some ten or 
fifteen miles between these two armies, and it was this bit of neu¬ 
tral ground that General Anson Stager, of the United States Mili¬ 
tary Telegraph Corps, was so desirous of opening communication 
through, because the “ Washington Government" could only hear 
from McClellan by way of the slow medium of dispatch boats 
across the bay to the nearest point of telegraph. 

I was directed by Mr. Covode to report in person, with a letter 
to the Chief Engineer, or Superintendent, of the Richmond & 
Fredericksburg Military Railroad, General Haupt, who was 
recently the Chief Engineer and builder of the Northern Pacific 


378 


THE BO i SPY, 


Railroad. Exactly what was to he the nature of my duties I do not 
now recall, if, indeed, I ever knew. 

I was shown to the Exchange, or may be it was the Planter's; 
anyway, it was the best hotel, located on the hill, on one of the 
principal streets leading out toward Marye's Heights. It was not a 
particularly hospitable place for me, because d saw at once that the 
young boy, who ran the office for his mother, was only there to col¬ 
lect all the money he could from the “ Yankee Invaders," while the 
father and elder brother were probably in the Rebel camps outside 
of town, only waiting a favorable opportunity to return and scalp 
the boarders. 

The town was full, literally and spiritually, not only of McDowell's 
soldiers, who were in camp all around, but of all sorts of strange 
people in civilians' dress—adventurers, suiters, traders, whisky 
smugglers, strange women—in fact, the main street of the quiet, 
sleepy old aristocratic town was a perfect bedlam in 1862, as com¬ 
pared with my first visit in August, 1861. 

That evening, before dark, I saw on the street a greater variety 
of life than I had met in Washington on any one evening during 
my stay there. These numerous hangers-on of the armies had 
been, to a great degree, excluded from the Peninsula, so they had 
swarmed up to Fredericksburg as the next best place for them, to 
be nearest their favorite regiments, and “on the road to Richmond," 
where they all expected to rejoin McClellan's army in a very few 
days. 

In addition to the great number of officers and men of the army, 
there were several batches of naval officers from one 01 two gun¬ 
boats of the Potomac Flotilla, which had sailed up the Rappahan¬ 
nock and were anchored below town. 

Altogether, it was what might be termed a lively town. The ordi¬ 
nary, quiet population had been suddenly increased to 40,000 or 
50,000 of McDowell's army and followers, which had settled down 
around the hills and the streets in one night, like a flock of blue¬ 
birds or crows at a roosting place. 

During my walk about the town that*evening, I ran against a 
crowd of contrabands on the sidewalk, who were watching with the 
greatest interest the antics of a pair of New York street arabs, or 
news-boys, who were dressed up in their rags doing some song- 


THE BOY SPY. 


379 


and-dance acts, to the great delight of the country soldiers and 
assembled contrabands. There was even an attempt at a theatrical 
performance after early candle-lighting. Indeed it was only after 
taps that the Provost-Marshal’s Guard made any attempt to suppress 
the fun. 

It did not occur to me, until after I had undressed myself and 
bad “doused the glim,” while looking out of the window toward 
the Virginia hill, since so well known as Marye’s Heights, that there 
was any possibility of the Rebels making a sudden dash on the town 
and capturing us all. I seemed to realize, only when I was alone, 
that there might be some chance for those Rebel fellows getting in 
there in sufficient force to gobble us all up. 

As I peered through the darkness in the direction of Richmond, 
I appreciated pretty strongly the fact that I was getting close to the 
front of that Rebel gang again, and I had not the least desire to get 
inside their lines as a prisoner. I didn’t sleep well, so early next 
morning I started out to find a place to stay, which did not impress 
me so strongly as being the house of my enemy. 

It was my good luck, or my fate, to have met with a clever gen¬ 
tleman in Mr. Jimmy Wilson, of Middletown, Pennsylvania. He 
was one of those happy, companionable persons, to whom one 
naturally attaches one’s self to on first acquaintance. His business 
in Fredericksburg was that of a trader to the army, and he had 
secured some special privileges in this direction through his towns¬ 
man, General Simon Cameron, while he was yet Secretary of War. 

It may be that Mr. Wilson was attracted to me by something of 
a selfish motive, through a knowledge of my connection with the 
railroad in an official capacity, by which he might be able to better 
facilitate his business interests in the transportation of his “sup¬ 
plies ” over the road and evading too close inspections. 

In the shrewd manner peculiar to the business of traveling sales¬ 
men, he had discovered the very best place in the town to live, to 
which he kindly consented to introduce me. It was through him 
that I first met my “ fate,” in the family of Captain Wells. There* 
were in this happy and accomplished household quite a bevy of 
/oung ladies. “All were young, but one was beautifpl.” 

It is quite a long, and I think may be an interesting, story, 
which is indeed quite too romantic for this narrative of facts. L 


380 


TEE BOY SPY. 


will only say that Geno, the youngest, was, to my eyes, ail that may 
be described as a beautiful, budding young girl. 

The eldest. Miss Sue, had been a belle in Georgetown before the 
war; another. Miss Mamie, was noted for her sweet disposition. 
The father, I grieve to add, was suspected by our officers of being a 
blockade-runner for the Rebels. He had been engaged on the leg- 
ular underground line between Richmond and Washington, via the 
Potomac River, since the commencement of the war. Previous to 
this he had been the owner and captain of a steamer plying on the 
Rappahannock River. Through this me?,ns he had gained valuable 
information of the river and little bays of that part of Virgina* 
and knew all about the inlets and outlets of the adjacent water, and 
was, in consequence of this fact, probably suspected of being a 
most valuable ally to the Rebel Government. His sympathies were 
openly with the South, but, as this was the general feeling among 
the citizens, no one attached importance to the Captain's personal 
sentiments. 

Between my infatuation for Geno and the sense of duty, I had 
a troublesome old time of it in the weeks and months and years 
that followed this first evening in the Wells home. 

It's pretty much the same old story of love at first sight and 
trouble forever after. I was politely invited to join the family cir¬ 
cle in the parlor after tea. The mother was as youthful in her 
happy manner as her daughters. The genial Captain permitted 
himself to be prevailed upon by the younger children to sing one 
or two comic songs, which were received with hilarious applause. 
The thr^e daughters vied with the others in their polite efforts to 
enterta'li such a dull boy, as I must certainly have become after 
encountering the apparition of Geno that evening. Jimmy Wil¬ 
son's presence seemed to help me out a little. A group played 
card^, while some one banged the piano and sang “ Bonnie Blue 
Flag," “ Dixie," and, by way of a tease, “Yankee Doodle." The 
elder daughter. Miss Sue, was a decidedly beautiful girl, of perhaps 
twenty, quite lively, and perhaps a little bit of a flirt. I state this 
ojinion generally. I did not entertain it so fully at that time as I 
di \ subsequently. Miss Mamie was the good girl of the family, 
\v le Geno was the beauty. 

if I were not writing this story myself, I should be tempted to 



4JEN0 WAS NOT ONLY THE PRETTIEST, BUT THE SWEETEST 
GIRL I EVER SAW. 




































/ 










I 






















■J 







t 





























THE BOY SPY. 


381 . 

honestly declare that Geno was not only the prettiest, hut the sweet¬ 
est, girl I ever saw, and I have seen a great many in my life. She 
was not tall, but a slender, graceful, womanly figure, dressed in dark 
blue, she required no artificial aids to her fresh young beauty. Her 
face was sweetly intelligent, and, while not lacking in resolution, 
it was marked by that shyness which belongs to young girls who 
are well-born and bred in comparative seclusion. 

It was decreed that Geno should sit near me that evening on a 
low sofa, located in a corner of the parlor. All the chairs wefe 
occupied by the rest of the company, either by accident or through 
Miss Sue’s propensity to tease her younger sister and myself. 

Geno, though but between fifteen and sixteen at that time, was, 
in her manner, quite as easy and winning as her elder sisters. She 
sat beside me on the sofa, her luxuriant, dark hair bewitchingly 
plaited in a roll over her head, wearing a low-neck dress, short 
skirts, while her bare arms gracefully held a guitar, on which she 
skillfully played the accompaniment and sweetly sang the old, old 
Spanish serenade, Juanita. (I advise the young ladies to get a guitar 
and practice on this song; it will catch a boy every time.) It was 
that song , and the beautiful, large, dark, expressive eyes of this dear 
little girl that put me in Old Capitol Prison. 

I was a “ goner ” from that moment, and have never gotten entirely 
over it in all these years. 

I do not say it boastingly at all, but for a truth. I believe I 
should at that time have felt more at my ease if I had been“ scouting ” 
or sitting around a campfire with Rebels instead of beside the little 
girl whose dress touched me. It was a clear case of love at first 
sight. 

The Wells family were natives of my own State, having been 
embargoed during the war because of the father’s steamboat inter¬ 
ests on the river ; and thereby hangs another tale not pertinent to 
this narrative, which I hope, subsequently, to give to the world. 

I had been introduced to the family as a civilian employe of the 
military railway, and had been able to present some flattering let¬ 
ters of introduction from Mr. John W. Forney, Mr. Covode, and 
other prominent Pennsylvania gentlemen. I was, of course, made 
to feel quite at home. 

I may as well admit frankly I was about Geno’s house more than duty 


THE BOY SPY. 


S*8 

warranted ; so much so, indeed, that the amiable mother must have 
become tired of me. I seldom went to the railroad headquarters, and 
I had lost all interest in the capture of Richmond and in Capitola. 

Of course, I felt obliged to make an appearance of reporting for 
duty to the railroad office occasionally. 

With a desire to learn something of the probable advance to 
Richmond, I had spent considerable time about the Provost-Mar- 
shaPs Office* where I had become quite well acquainted with a young 
officer on detached duty. 

His interest probably sprung from having seen me in the com¬ 
pany of the pretty girl, with whom he desired to become acquainted 
through me. 

On the occasion of one of these visits, I was questioned quite 
closely by another of the Staff officers about the politics of the 
Wells family, and especially of the sympathies of the ladies for Con¬ 
federate officers. 

Perhaps I was not in proper frame of mind to dispassionately dis¬ 
cuss this question of Gem/s family affairs with a strange officer, and 
it is probable that I somewhat rashly resented the supposed imper¬ 
tinence. 

I was informed that it was through the usual gossipy informa¬ 
tion volunteered, by some unfriendly Unionists of the town, that this 
officer at headquarters had learned that Captain Wells had been 
engaged in blockade-running for the Rebels. I exclaimed that I 
knew better; that my relations with the family were of an intimate 
character; that Captain Wells was a native of my own State; that 
all his daughters had been born and educated in the Wyoming 
Valley, and that he was in Virginia solely and only because his busi¬ 
ness of steamboating had embargoed him there, and he had chosen 
to remain himself and sacrifice his boats, rather than abandon his 
family. All this was said in a postive manner, and with probably a 
little more animation than the subject justified. It had, however, 
the undesirable effect of bringing out prominently a trifling affair 
that occurred in connection with the family, Avhich I must relate, as 
part of my experience which soon followed, just to show that ie trifles 
light as air, are to the jealous, confirmations strong as proofs of 
Holy Writ.” 

It will be remembered by the old soldiers that, early in the war, it 



REFUSING IN HEN VERY DECIDED MANNER TO WALK 
UNDER "THAT FLAQ.” 





















































1? i 




THE DOT DPT. 


383 


was the custom to display flags promiscuously wherever they could 
find a place to string one in a Virginia town. 

Soldiers who were in Fredricksburg with McDowell, in 1862 , will 
know that over the main streets of the town hung innumerable 
flags, so that the natives must either walk under the flag or stay 
indoors altogether. 

Miss Sue Wells, like most bright girls of her age who lived in 
the South, was fond of tormenting our officers, ee just for fun, you 
know." She insisted, in the company of Union officers, that she 
was a Rebel, but I was quietly informed by the family that, when the 
Confederates first had possession of the town, she was a Union girl 
to them. 

On this and several other questions Miss Sue and I differed quite 
decidedly. The sequence and truthfulness of this story compels me 
to say here that Miss Sue and I quarreled all the time (after I had 
become fairly established in the family). One day, while walking 
with her along the main street of the town, we encountered one of 
the numerous flags that were suspended over the sidewalk. Miss 
Sue put her little foot down (and I know positively that she had a 
little foot), refusing in her very decided manner to walk under “that 
flag!” 

What could I do ? The street was full of soldiers and officers, 
whose attention was being attracted toward us by my taking her 
arm and attempting *to force her to accompany me under the flag. 
I explained that there were flags on the other side of the street. 

Flags to the right of us. 

Flags to the left of us, 

and flags every place ; that we would not dare to go around it; but 
the more I talked and urged, the more contrary she grew, and to 
prevent a further scene on the street, we retraced our steps. 

That little act on the streets of Fredericksburg in, the summer 
of 1862 , is on record to-day in the war archives as part of the 
specifications in a charge of disloyalty against myself, on which I 
was subsequently arrested and confined in Old Capitol Prison. 

It is a shameful fact, that my early record for the Union at Fort 
Pickens, and the subsequent year of service with a rope about my 


S8J/. 


TEE BOY SPY. 


nock, was, for a short time, completely shadowed by this silly per¬ 
formance with a young lady in Fredericksburg. Not only this, 
but it was, perhaps, the indirect cause of this young lady’s father’s 
banishment from his home and the confiscation of his property 

The officer who had reminded me of this incident undertook to 
give me some advice as to my ^association or intimacy in a Rebel 
family. 

He further astonished me by saying they had information of a 
piratical scheme being hatched, which had for its object the seizure 
of some of the regular line of steamers plying on the Chesapeake 
Bay, and Captain Wells was to act as pilot. The officer explained 
to me further that the plan, as they had learned of it, was for a 
party of Rebels, disguised as passengers and laborers, to board one 
of these steamers in Baltimore, and, after she was out in the bay, at 
midnight, they were to throw off their masks, seize the boat, con¬ 
fine the officers and, under the pilotage of Geno’s father, run her 
into Rebel waters as a prize. 

This was indeed startling intelligence, that for a moment stag¬ 
gered me. I realized that a more suitable person to do the work 
could not have been selected than Captain Wells. 

The officer said, as they had no proof of this at all, he had men¬ 
tioned it to me with a view of having me look the matter up ; that 
my relations with the family were of such a character as to enable 
me to get on to the real facts. I left the headquarters feeling very 
much depressed. 

After another enjoyable evening spent at the Wells house fol* 
lowing this conversation at Provost Headquarters, I went to my 
quarters quite disturbed in heart and mind as to my duty. 

With the sweet voice of “ Juanita” still ringing in my ears, and 
the memory of her beautiful eyes seemingly appealing to my tender- 
est sympathies, I went to bed with my head in a whirl, and dropped 
into a restless sleep without having settled the question in my own. 
mind satisfactorily as to her father’s guilt. There was no question 
as to the Captain’s being entirely competent to pilot or even com¬ 
mand such an expedition, and I may as well cut this story short by 
the frank admission that, had he not been the father of a very pretty 
girl, I would have jumped at the same conclusion as the officer. 

I was, however, unwilling to believe that the father of such an 


THE BOY SPY. 


SS5 


interesting family, all of whom had been born and reared in Penn¬ 
sylvania, would become the leader of a piratical gang. I concluded 
at last that I would postpone any action, for a while at least. I 
could do this with the better grace, as I was not specially engaged 
in secret service at that time. I rather relished the truth, too, that 
the failure of the Secretary of War to recognize my former services 
relieved me from any obligation to act as “spotter” for the Pinker¬ 
ton detectives. 

But after having slept over the matter, and while enjoying a 
walk the next morning among the neighboring camps, over which 
floated the “ emblem.” I suddenly regained my senses, for a little 
while at least, and made up my mind that it would be worse than 
traitorous for me, by my silence and apparent association, to permit 
those Maryland sympathizers to go on and mature a plan to hire a 
gitiig of Baltimore pluguglies to play the pirate on unarmed vessels 
on the bay, within sight of our armies. I could, at least, put the 
officials on their guard. I walked back toward my “ office,” where 1 
briefly wrote the rumor as it had, without my volition, been detailed 
to me, and at once put the letter in form to reach Mr. Covode 
through the improvised mail service then existing between Washing¬ 
ton and the army of McDowell. I felt better for having done this 
much. I had also advised Mr. Covode that I was in a position to 
follow up the matter from this clew, and, if it could be confirmed, I 
would give the information directly to himself, and no one else. I 
expect, too, that I was indiscreet enough to have taken his opportun¬ 
ity to ventilate my own rather fresh opinions of Secretary Stanton; 
because just then I was smarting under his seeming indifference to 
and neglect of my services and claims. I am sure that my letter con¬ 
tained some unnecessary criticisms on Mr. P. H. Watson, Assistant 
Secretary, as well as the Secret Service Corps, which was under his 
viirection, and Maj. Eckert, of the Telegraph Corps. 

This letter was intended as a private communication to my 
hiend Covode, and I had particularly cautioned him not to permit 
certain War Department influences to get hold of the rumors, as I 
wanted to work it out myself. I learned subsequently, to my sor¬ 
row, that this personal letter, containing both the information and 
the criticism, was sent to the War Office at once as an important 
laper. Anybody will see that it was not only a mistake of my own 


386 


THE BOY SPY 


to have written in this way, but also of Mr. Covode’s to have shown 
it; but it was one of that statesman’s “privileges” to mix things 
up. It probably never occurred to him—as I afterward heard—• 
that the principal effect of the criticisms, coupled with the “ infor¬ 
mation,” would be to impress upon the War Department officials 
the suspicion that Covode had employed me as one of his agents to 
play the “spy” on our own officials, for the benefit of the Con¬ 
gressional Committee of the War. 

I was not very much bothered about the consequences of such 
things at that time. I was in love, which will account for a good 
many of my mistakes. 

When I went to my newly-found home, at Capt. Wells’s house, 
the evening of the same day on which I had written and mailed 
this letter, 1 was received so kindly and courteously into the house 
by the genial Captain himself, that I began to feel that I had ffeen 
guilty of an awfully shabby trick in having reported, even privately 
to Mr. Covode, a private conversation with this Staff officer in regard 
to mine host. 

Indeed, I was feeling so unconfortable over what seemed to have 
been an ungracious return for favors received, that I took the first 
opportunity to get out of the Captain’s presence, and, in the seclusion 
of my room that night, I inwardly resolved that I would, if possible 
attempt to modify my report by another letter to follow the first. 

The evening was spent in the little parlor, as on the many pre¬ 
vious occasions. I was treated as one of the family, and entertained 
m the most agreeable manner by the accomplished ladies of this 
happy household. Each night we had music. Of course, Juanita, 
with the guitar, accompanied by Geno, became one feature of all 
others that was always so charmingly attractive to me. The Captain 
himself song a number of comic songs with good effect, while the 
elder daughter. Miss Sue, exerted herself in a pleasant way to create 
a little fun for the company at my own and Geno’s expense. Col. 
Hoffman, Mr. Wilson and myself furnished the only audience, while a 
happy-faced, brisk little mother supplied the refreshments, and 
made us all feel at home. 

This general attempt at a description of one evening must suf¬ 
fice for the many, many happy days and evenings that I spent in 
Fredericksburg during the months of McDowell’s occupation of that 


THE BOY SPY: 


887 

country. As I have previously stated, I could furnish the material 
for a romance based on wonderful facts connected with my different 
visits here that would make a large-sized book in itself. This is 
simply a blunt narrative of fact. 

This is an absolutely “ true love” story, and I am giving correct 
names and actual incidents, realizing that I may be talking to some 
of the survivors of McDowelFs army, who may have been “thar or 
tharabouts”. 

The Colonel Hoffman referred to above was in command of the 
regiment that had control of the town at this time. The Colonel 
having known the Wells family in the North, was glad of the 
opportunity to meet them, and during his stay in town lived with 
them in the house with Mr. Wilson and myself. His regiment had 
been recruited somewhere in the neighborhood of Elmira, New 
York. 

As soon as I could see the Colonel alone, I took the opportunity 
to tell him the story of the Captain's alleged complicity in the Ches¬ 
apeake Bay piracy. To my surprise and gratification, he blurted 
out rather savagely: “I don't believe a word of it. Why, I've 
known Frank Wells all my life. No one at home ever accused him 
of any such traits of character as this. Why,'' continued the Colo¬ 
nel, with a show of disgust, “ it's impossible. He couldn't be a dis¬ 
loyal man ; he comes of Puritan stock, from away back. I've seen 
myself a family tombstone up in Long Island which shows that his 
ancestors were buried there as early as 1671. Why, boy, they came 
over in the Mayflower.” 

This seemed to settle it with Colonel Hoffman, but he added, in 
any explanatory way: “I suppose it's one of those ‘ Unionists' 
stories. Every dog who has a grievance against his neighbor, in war 
times, runs to the nearest Provost-Marshal to get the army on t6 his 
enemy. Wells came down here to run his boats on the Rappahan¬ 
nock ; that was his business. He tells me that he, with a majority 
of the citizens here, did not believe there would be a war, or that 
Virginia would go out of the Union, and, therefore, he did not 
attempt to get away until it was too late. The Confederates wouldn't 
let him take his boats North. When our fellows got there, he ran 
his boats below town to prevent the Rebels burning them, as they 
did all the rest; and when the gunboats came up the river they 


388 


THE BOY SPY. 


allowed a lot of rough sailors to seize and confiscate liis boats. Their 
object was prize money, and it is probably to their interest to create 
&n impression that he was disloyal, that they may secure this money. 
I’ve told Frank he ought to resist this, but he is mad about it; 
swears they are robbers and thieves; and it is likely he and the girls 
have given offense in this way to some of our officers." 

The Colonel's decided talk fully confirmed me in the belief that 
the story of the Captain's complicity was the outcome of some per¬ 
sonal grievance. 

Feeling that I had been guilty of a mean action, in reporting the 
names to Mr. Covode, I sat down and wrote him the second letter, 
retracting all that the first contained, and added that the mistake 
arose from the desire of some enemies of mine, or the Captain, to 
get me mixed up with the War Department. 

I do not remember just what I did write, but if the reader will 
put himself in my place at that time, or try to realize what an 
enthusiastic, love-sick boy would be liable to write under such cir¬ 
cumstances, in defense of his intended father-in-law, you will be 
apt to reach the conclusion that I do now, that I put my foot in it 
badly. 

Unfortunately, I did not mail the letter in time to overtake the 
first one. I was delayed by engaging myself to accompany the 
ladies the next day on a visit to the grave and monument of the 
mother of General Washington. As all know, the mother of Presi¬ 
dent Washington lived, died, and is buried in this historic old town. 
The old house, or all that is left of it, still stands on one of the 
streets. The tomb and monument is situated on rising ground 
some distance in the outskirts. 

^{ost of the soldiers of the Army of the Potomac have visited 
this spot, at least all who were interested in such matters did, 
who were about Fredericksburg, and it will not be necessary to 
describe it. 

It was arranged that we should make a select picnic party of our 
visit to the tomb of the Mother of our Country, and, as we expected 
to make a day of it, one day's rations for a dozen, composed of the 
usual girls' rations of sweet cake and sour pickle, were packed in a 
big lunch basket. 

The picnic was a pleasant affair, of course, because Geno was 


THE BOY SPY. 


3S9 


there. For the time being I had entirely forgotten or, at least, lost 
interest in the letter of explanation which I had intended to send 
to Mr. Covode on that day, as well as everything else but Geno. 
On our return through town that same evening, I saw for the first 
time a New York regiment in full Zouave uniform marching in 
their cat-like or tip-toe step, carrying their guns in a graceful, easy 
manner as they marched along in their picturesque style. The band 
played and, seemingly, the whole regiment of a thousand bass 
voices sang “ John Brown’s body,” as I have never heard it since. 
The effect upon our own party and the few loyal citizens was 
magical, and I leave the reader to imagine the sensations of the 
Rebel occupants of the houses along the line of march. The shades 
were closed—they always were—but that did not entirely conceal a 
number of bright-flashing eyes, that one could always find on close 
inspection peeping throug the cracks. 

After relieving my mind by sending the letter in the evening I 
turned in to enjoy myself freely in the society of the ladies, and 
became so much immersed in the pursuit of this new-found delight 
that I lost sight of all other business Every day became a picnic 
and every evening a party. 

One day, while loafing about my office down at the depot, I 
observed a strange-looking fellow hanging about. Every time I 
would look toward him I discovered his eyes had been upon me. 
He was not a good spy, or detective, because he at once gave himself 
away by his too naked manner of observing things. I got on to 
him at once, because he did not seem to do anything but shadow me. 

There was also a telegraph office at the depot, the wire extend¬ 
ing,. I believe, only as far as the railroad was operated, to Aquia 
Creek. I had not met the operator personally, and, as had been 
my invariable practice, I had carefully concealed from all strangers, 
even friends, the fact that I was also a sound operator. I knew 
that neither the detective nor the operator suspected me of being an 
operator As soon as I discovered that a suspicious watch had been 
put upon me, it stirred me all up, and served most effectively to 
recall me to some sense of the duties or obligations that were 
expected of me. For the day or two following I passed more of my 
time within the hearing of the telegraph instrument and less in the 
parlor of Captain Wells. 


390 


THE BOY SPY. 


One morning I saw the Pinkerton detective hand a piece of 
paper to the operator, who quietly put it on his telegraph desk. I 
had to wait a long, long time, and was forced to manufacture a 
good many excuses for lying around the office so closely. 

There is something which I cannot explain that instinctively 
seems to satisfy one of certain conditions or impressions of another’s 
mind. In modern mind-reading a telegraph operator has a very 
great advantage over any of the professional mind-readers, from the 
fact that, by a simple contact of the hand to any part of the body, 
the telegraph operator can telegraph by silent taps or touches or by 
simple pressure of the hands the characters of the telegraph 
alphabet, and thus spell out rapidly any word. Perhaps this fact 
will account for some of the recent phenomena in this direction. 

As I have said, I was satisfied in my own mind, instinctively, as 
it were, that this fellow was a War Department spy on Captain 
Wells, and, perhaps myself, and I was just sharp and cunning enough 
when my blood was up to determine to beat him at his own game. 
He walked off some distance while I hung to the office, apparently 
very much interested in reading a copy of the Christian Commis¬ 
sion Army Bible, which had found its way into the oflice there. I 
heard the operator call up his office, and, after doing~ some routine 
railroad business, he sent the message to some one of the chief 
detectives in Washington, which was, in effect, as nearly as I can 
remember, a sort of report or excuse for the failure to arrest a cer¬ 
tain party, because he was absent that day, but was expected to 
return at night, when the arrest would be made. 

Of course I saw that I was not the party referred to, because I was 
not absent. It did not take long, however, to find out, after some 
investigation and private talk with the operator, that Mr. Pinker¬ 
ton had sent a man down there to look after the matter referred to 
in my letter to Covode. Of course Covode had indiscreetly rushed 
to the office and presented my letter, without once thinking of the 
severe reflections on the officials, or in anyway considering my 
interests. He only thought of the proposed scheme to get posses* 
sion of the steamers. I suppose that he felt in his honest, patriotic 
heart that it must be thwarted at once. That’s the way Mr. Covode 
did things. He told me subsequently that he felt that my letter 
would show Stanton and Watson that I was a valuable man. 


THE HOT SPY . 


391 


But I was not willing that the detectives of Pinkerton should 
have the credit of working up this plan, and, aside from little per¬ 
sonal feeling against the Pinkerton spy and my sympathies and 
sentiment for the father of Geno, I at once determined to defeat 
their aspirations; and I succeeded—to my own subsequent discom¬ 
fiture. 

Determined to prevent the arrest of Geno’s father, because I 
believed him innocent, and realizing that I was responsible for the 
espionage that had been placed upon the family, and without a 
single thought as to the consequence to myself, I went quietly from 
the telegraph office to the Wells house, only a few blocks distant. 

Geno smilingly welcomed me as she opened the door (she had 
learned to look for my coming, I have since thought,) and to her 
pleasant greeting I abruptly demanded, in a tone and with an agita¬ 
tion that must have seemed strange, “ I want to see your father 
right away." To the polite response, “Why, there is nobody at 
home but me; come in;" I could only say, rather nervously, per¬ 
haps, “I must see your father or your mother on private business. 
I can not talk to you until this matter is settled first." 

Geno turned her big, black eyes on me quickly, quizically, 
looked into my heart, seemingly satisfied herself that I was very 
much in earnest, she observed, with a smile: “You can see fathei 
to-night, if you wish." 

“I must see him before to-night. Where is he ?" 

My animated manner, or perhaps urgent demands in the hall¬ 
way, had attracted Mrs. Wells’s attention in an upper room. 
Making an appearance at the head of the stairway, she asked, pleas¬ 
antly : “ What in the world is the matter with you ?" 

“Oh, nothing much. Come down, please. I have something 
to say to you and the Captain, privately." 

The happy mother descended only to the landing, where she 
halted long enough to see whether it would be safe enough for her to 
come any closer. Geno having heard me express a desire to talk 
privately to her parents, had suddenly disappeared through a side 
door; while Mrs. Wells, laughingly, stepped down, and, without 
waiting to hear from me, said, in her gentle, motherly way: 

“Now, my dear boy, don’t you talk to me about that. Why 
Geno is only a child." 


892 


TBp BOY SPY. 


“Oh, no; not that—not now. I came to tell you that the Cap¬ 
tain will be arrested to-night. He must leave town at once.” 

With a few words more of explanation, the loyal wife and mother 
was alive to the gravity of the situation. I left the house as sud* 
denly as I had entered it, after cautioning them under no circum¬ 
stances to admit that I gave this information, as I would be hung 
too. I was back at the station before they had discovered that I 
had been away. 

My plan, as detailed to Covode, was to have quietly waited and 
watched for some tangible proofs of this rumored piracy. If they 
had left me alone I should have worked it up for all it was worth, 
and reported the result to the War Department. But they jumped 
in and agitated the oyster^ which of course closed up the oyster 
securely. I admit that on seeing this attempt at poaching on my 
premises, that I flushed the game, believing that the end would 
justify the means. I was only apprehensive that some member of 
the family might accidentally say something that would indicate 
that I was responsible for the escape of Captain Wells. 

I became for a day or two subsequently a most regular attend¬ 
ant at the Department Telegraph Office. 

I learned by my telegraph facilities that this Pinkerton spy had 
reported to his chief that “ Wells has not yet returned,” that “the 
party was still absent,” and later that he had “escaped South/'* 
Luckily for me he did not learn of the short and interesting return 
visit the Captain made, and, in consequence, he had no occasion to 
immediately investigate the Captain’s taking off, so that several 
days elapsed before he found it out. The Captain did not go South 
to join the Rebels, but, instead, went North, visiting during his exile 
a married daughter living in Baltimore, and subsequently published 
a little family history, in which he gives “a friend ” the credit for 
the warning and also for supplying a pass over the railroad to 
Aquia Creek. 

I found that I had made by way clear in thus “breaking the 
ice ” when I should want to ask for Geno’s hand. I had killed two 
or three birds at one shot that day. I had thwarted Assistant Sec¬ 
retary of War Watson and his Pinkertown crowd in their attempt 
at arresting Captain Wells on mere rumors. I had established 
myself in the good graces of Geno’s entire family. I had prevented 


THE BOY SPY, 


393 

her father from being imprisoned. In addition to all this, I suc¬ 
ceeded in getting myself into Old Capitol Prison, by order of Sec¬ 
retary of War E. M. Stanton, and became a companion of Belle 
Boyd and numerous other Rebel spies. But HI have to tell some 
other things that occurred at Fredericksburg before this unfortu¬ 
nate episode came to pass. 

I need not say that, after this episode, I felt that the fate of the 
entire Wells family was in my hands. From that day on I was 
what may be slangily termed “ solid ” with that happy family. I 
believe I have mentioned the fact previously that Geno was.a strik¬ 
ingly beautiful young girl of sixteen, and that I was twenty. I 
may be permitted to even say, parenthetically, that there has been 
nothing in my adventurous life nearly so fascinating as were the 
summer days in which I was “ isolated” in company with the little 
girl who lived, as it were, between the two armies, at Fredericks¬ 
burg. 

To be sure the soldiers were there, or thereabout, in force. 

The crack of the pickets rifle—almost the distant boom of 
McClellan’s battles around Richmond—indeed, the smoke of war 
was in the air at the time, and no one knew what a day would bring 
forth. This was not exactly a period well adapted to sincere love- 
making. But no one who has known of Geno could be made to 
believe that she could be insincere, or that anyone could insincerely 
make love to her. 

We were together nearly all the time, but I do not think we 
were sentimental in our talk. 

There was this difference to me between Geno and all my other 
girls. In her presence it did not seem to be at all necessary to do 
any sentimental talking. I was always impressed by her soul-pierc¬ 
ing eyes with the feeling that she knew it'all anyhow, and it was 
no use in talking—I had almost written lying. I believe I told 
Geno more of my life than I ever intended anybody to know. I 
simply couldn’t help it. But I shall never do this subject justice 
until I write out the “Romance of this Secret Love and Secret 
Service.” This is only a narrative of facts. 

I believe I have said somewhere in this story that Geno was a 
pretty little girl, but, at the risk of repetition, I will say that her 
beauty was of a kind that may not be easily described or portrayed. 


394 


THE BOY SPY. 


It was her eyes—her beautiful dark-brown eyes—that were in them* 
selves a soul." 

In every man’s life there is one moment, or one single memory, 
that is more cherished than all others. I shall have to tell of this 
one moment of my life, which occurred the day before I left. 

One pleasant afternoon I happened around to the Wells house, 
as usual, knowing very well that Geno, dressed in her most becom¬ 
ing of summer toilets, would soon join me on the veranda. Per¬ 
haps I was a little earlier than usual at my accustomed seat; any¬ 
way, I became a little impatient at Geno not putting in an appear¬ 
ance promptly, and thinking perhaps she might not have become 
aware of my presence, stepped into the hall to try to make it known 
to her. The windows had all been closely shaded, to exclude the 
bright August sunlight, giving the hallway a cool and inviting half- 
darkened appearance. Stepping into the parlor, affecting a little 
cough as a signal that I was around the house, I had scarcely seated 
myself when my quick ear caught the sound of her footsteps as she 
quickly tripped down the stairway. 

Lest I have neglected to mention it, I will say here that Geno 
was a sweet girl, with beautiful eyes, and, moreover, she was womanly 
in figure and graceful in action, in that hers was of the ethereal 
style of beauty so aptly described by Longfellow’s “ Evangeline.’’ 
And she was sixteen, while I was twenty. Rising to greet her, I 
advanced to the door just as her lithe figure darkened it. She 
looked so nice, and you know the parlor and hallway were shrouded 
by that dim, religious light one reads about. I was tempted, and, 
yielding to the youthful impulse, grasped both her hands in mine, 
and attempted to steal a kiss—the first kiss of love. 

I had by her quiet dignity of manner during my visit been 
repelled from attempting anything of a too familiar kind on such a 
short war-acquaintance. She quickly dropped her head, turning 
her face from me, while I held both hands tightly in my own, and 
uttered only that one little word of four letters “ Geno.’’ Whether 
it was the tone of voice, the imploring or entreating manner and 
earnest emphasis, or a mild reproach, I knew not. She answered 
not a word, but turned her pretty blushing face up to mine, while 
her beautiful eyes pierced to my soul, and I—I—oh! 

Here I drop my pen, put my feet on the desk on which I have 


THE BOY SPY. 


S95 


ueen writing this, lay my head back in my lazy chair, and with both 
hands pressed on my face I bring back this one blissful moment of 
my life twenty-five years agone, as if it were but yesterday. I can not 
write of it. It’s a “true love” story, as the sequel will show, and 
none but those who have been there in war-times will appreciate it. 

Before I could do it again she had deftly slipped away from me, 
and, like a frightened deer, glided into a dark corner of the parlor; 
from behind a chair she blushingly cast reproachful glances toward 
me, while she rearranged the hair that she had taken so much 
pains to bewitchingly do up, and that had so long delayed her 
appearance. 

There is a song, and of course plenty of melody and poetry in it, 
which I have frequently asked friends to sing—“ II Bacio”—which 
more aptly describes this one blissful moment than my pen can 
write. 

After this there was a sort of an understanding between us that 
all lovers, who have been there, will understand, and it is not 
necessary for me to explain. 

I had Geno’s first love; and it is a true saying that, in a woman’s 
first love, she loves her lover; in all the rest, she loves love. 

I have been in love—oh, often—so many times that I cannot 
enumerate all, but Geno was my “war girl”; and all old soldiers will 
agree with me that there is a something in the very memories of 
love and war that touch the heart in a way that is not reached by 
any other feeling. 

Do not for a moment imagine that there was any attempt on the 
part of this truly happy family to take any advantage of the tender 
susceptibilities of the “Boy Spy.” They knew absolutely nothing 
of my past record. 

“Through the rifted smoke-clouds of the great rebellion”of 
twenty-five years ago I am relating a little love story from real life, 
that seems almost like a dream now, but which is the best-remem¬ 
bered incident of all the war to me. 

“ The ways of fate are very diverse,” and it has truly happened 
to me that this sweet face looked into so long since has never been 
forgotten m all the years that have passed or are yet to come. 


/ 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

A. SCOUT TO RICHMOND DEVELOPS IMPORTANT INFORMATION 
—NO FORCE IN FRONT OF M’DOWELL TO PREVENT HIS CO¬ 
OPERATING WITH M’CLELLAN—THE SECRETARY OF WAR 
RESPONSIBLE FOR THE FAILURE OF THE PENINSULA CAMPAIGN— 
OUR SPY AS A WAR CORRESPONDENT ANTAGONIZES THE WAR 
DEPARTMENT BY CRITICISM IN THE PAPERS—IS ARRESTED ON A 
TECHNICALITY AND SENT A SPECIAL PRISONER TO OLD CAPITOL 
BY THE SECRETARY OF WAR’S ORDERS. 

I, made a scout on my own account to the very out-skirts 
of Richmond, which resulted in establishing the fact that there 
was no enemy in front of McDowell. On my return to our lines, 
I was, as had been my usual fate, coolly received by our own 
officers and supected of disloyalty. In my impulsive way, perhaps, 
I had too freely criticised, in my letters to Mr. Forney’s paper, our 
officers for their listlessness in permitting McDowell’s army to lie 
idle, while McClellan was being forced to change his base on the 
Peninsula. 

At the headquarters of the regiment, or picket guard, I had 
encountered, I was cross-examined by every officer who could get 
a chance to stick a question at me. To all I had the same story, 
with renewed emphasis each time, that there was no Rebel army 
between Fredericksburg and Richmond. 

The detention at so many of these subordinate headquarters, 
or the halting at so many stages of our return, to answer these 
same stereotyped questions, began to annoy me. I had been scout¬ 
ing for hours without a moment’s rest; my nerves were all 
unstrung, now that I had gotten safely back. I wanted to go-to 
the real headquarters, and tell all I knew to the General, and 
then go to Mrs. Wells’ house to see Geno and rest for the 
balance of my life. I was tired, hungry, nervous and irritable, 
which accounts for the unfortunate fact that I became at last 
resentful and, perhaps, insulting, to some of the higher officers 
about the headquarters and staff, who questioned my statements. 

396 










% 












ON A SCOUT TO KICHMOND 





































































































- 


























«' . 














































— 




> 

, 

•- * 






































































THE BOY SPY. 


397 


General McDowell was not present; he had been sent to Wash¬ 
ington, or to the Shenandoah Valley I think, so that those in com¬ 
mand had no authority, as I knew, and I felt in my nervous con¬ 
dition that they had insulted me by daring to doubt my story. 

While yet smarting under this disagreeable reception of my 
report, I sat down and sent Mr. Covode a dispatch, over the mili¬ 
tary wire, giving him in brief therusultsof my recent observations, 
and asserting positively that the army could go to McClellan if 
they wanted to. Those are not the words of the dispatch, but it 
was in substance the same story that I had told, with the addition 
of some bitter comments. I did not stop to think at the time that 
such a dispatch could pass through the War Department Telegraph 
Office, and be subject to that censorship. My only object was to 
hasten the information to headquarters through Covode, because I 
realized that the officers of our own army would not act upon it. 

I did not know then, neither did General McClellan, or anybody 
else in the armies, that Secretary Stanton had sometime previously 
positively ordered General McDowell not to reinforce McClellan. 

My dispatch was unintentionally a criticism on the Secretary 
of War; and, coming as it did, in this outside and unofficial way, 
to Covode, whose committee were investigating these things, it no 
doubt put me in bad shape before the Secretary of War. 

Undoubtedly, Major Eckert, who was then the official in charge 
of the telegraph office, but who in reality acted as a messenger to 
carry private news to the ear of the Secretary, gladly availed himself 
of the opportunity to place me in a bad light before the Secretary. 

As I had previously made several visits to Washington and Bal¬ 
timore while sojourning with the family, my short absence of one 
day and two nights was not noticed. 

I may be permitted to say, parenthetically, that Miss Mamie 
Wells, the second daughter, had gone to her sister's home in Balti¬ 
more under my charge a few days previous to this. Her war his¬ 
tory, I venture to say here, would present one of the most attractive 
yet written. 

She was, during the bombardment and battles, a Florence Night¬ 
ingale to both sides; and to her parents and family, in the subse¬ 
quent terrible sufferings consequent upon their exposed position 
between the two armies, became a heroine in deed and in truth. 


THE BOY SPY . 


398 

My personal acquaintance with this remarkable young lady was 
confined to the few days of 1862. The incident which is best 
remembered occurred while riding up the Potomac from Aquia 
Creek as her escort, en route to Baltimore. In reply to something 
that I had said on the subject that was uppermost in my heart, she 
took occasion to say to me in a kind, sisterly way about Geno, that 
produced a lasting effect upon me: “You must not trifle with 
that child.” 

That I was sincere and very much in earnest she soon discovered, 
because, from her charming manner, I was impelled to tell her right 
there much more of my love for her sister than I had told Geno her¬ 
self. Her smiling approval, when I mentioned my ambition to 
make Geno an officer’s wife, was : “You love like a boy, but I 
believe you would fight like a man.” 

Miss Sue was of an entirely different disposition. She was a 
horn coquette, and flirting was natural to her. Her eyes were hazel, 
and, if I may be permitted to offer my advice to the sons of veter¬ 
ans, it is, don’t attempt to flirt with a pair of hazel eyes, because it 
is a waste of time and dangerous. Perhaps they are less susceptible 
than black or blue, but once trifled with, or neglected, they do not 
pine away in grief, but rally for revenge and take it out in scorn. 

I never made love to Miss Sue that I remember, after having 
met Geno ; but she evidently felt that I was her legitimate game, 
simply because she was the oldest daughter. In fact, she told me 
plainly that Geno was entirely too young to be spending so much 
time with strange young gentlemen. 

Naturally enough, I resented her advice, and talked to Geno 
about it, but my little girl only laughed sweetly at my earnestness, 
and not once, that I can recall, said a single word in reply that 
reflected on her elder sister’s judgment. Geno’s voice was mild, 
her method of speaking slow, with a charmingly hesitating man¬ 
ner, that made everything she said, or left unsaid, impressive. 

The father being absent in exile. Miss Sue prevailed upon the 
mother to allow her to “manage this affair,” as she haughtily 
termed it. We were being restricted somewhat arbitrarily by Miss 
Sue’s management, and, to get around it, I had recourse to smug¬ 
gling little notes to Geno through her little brother George and 
sister Jennie. 


THE BOY SPY. 


399 

I recall now, with a laugh, with what slyness and caution Geno 
managed this little secret service of ours. There were not any 
ciphers used, but Geno had away of inserting quotations in French 
in her notes that embarassed me, because I couldn’t interpret 
them myself, and, of course, dare not appeal to any one else. 

One day we all came to grief by Miss Sue getting hold of one 
of my notes to Geno, in which I impulsively intimated that the 
animus or motive of Sue’s opposition was based on the fact that 
she desired all the attention bestowed on herself. That was a 
very indiscreet thing to put on a piece of paper; but, as I have said 
before, I think, I was twenty and Geno was sixteen. 

Entering the parlor one afternoon, I found both the sisters 
sobbing and crying as if their hearts were breaking over some 
sudden intelligence of a dreadful character. I hurriedly asked if 
their father had been caught. But, to my eager interest, Sue 
replied through her tears by taking me to task about this note. I 
tried to explain, but she did all the talking for an hour, and I got 
no chance to say a word, until she said something about Geno 
being too young to take care of herself, when I blurted out: 
“Geno is better able to take care of herself than you are, and 
I know it.” 

That was putting my foot into it deeper than ever. 

It took me a week to get this affair straightened out, and I 
verily believe the words uttered so thoughtlessly at this moment 
were treasured up against me in wrath by Miss Sue for twenty 
years, though she pretended to “make up,” and I kissed both of the 
sisters that time before we broke up the conference or love-feast. 

There remains in existence to-day a neatly-written, faded letter 
addressed to “ The friend of an hour,” which my sister Ruthie has 
preserved. The smart, sharp, stinging words of this letter have 
served as a model for more than one communication under similar 
circumstances. 

There was this peculiarity about the Wells family: they were 
all loyal and true to each other, and to their parents. More than 
one outsider has learned to their sorrow—touch one, and all of 
them were touched. 

As serving to indicate this, and to show the innocence and 
purity of Geno, I will relate at my own expense an incident. 


TEE BOY SPY. 


400 

Shortly after the Captain and father had “ escaped ” through 
my connivance, Geno, in her sweet, hesitating voice, said to me, in 
reply to something I had been saying or doing: “ Father said to 
me, as he bid me good-bye : f Geno, look out for Mr. 0. K.’” 

I was stunned. Perhaps I was presuming too far on my being 
solid with the family, and, in my usual impulsive way, I earnestly 
resented the Captain’s caution, probably because I realized that he 
was right, and said something harsh in reply. Geno looked up 
into my face in a surprised way, while she defended her father. I 
shall never forget the words and the manner in which they were 
uttered: “Why, father knows best. I would not have him angry 
with me for anything.” 

It was a lesson to me. I was angry at the moment, but I loved 
her all the more for this evidence of loyalty to her parents. 

It may be worth while to add a word of advice to the boys and 
girls who may read this. The good and faithful daughter always 
makes a good wife. Don’t forget it, boys and girls. 

To pick up the tangled love-knot in the thread of this narra¬ 
tive, I will say during the pleasant evening spent with the Wells 
family, I was so happy and contented that I became wholly obli v¬ 
ious to everything that was going on in the army outside. It was 
late the next day when I walked down to the railroad office as 
usual, to see if there was any news for me. It was then that I 
received the note of warning from my brother Spencer, which had 
come during my absence, a reference to which has been made 
further back in this narrative. 

While in or around this office or station, about which were 
always congregated a great crowd of officers and soldiers off duty, 
as well as sutlers, newsboys, etc., I was pleasantly approached by 
General McCallum, who had charge of all the military railroads, 
as the successor of Colonel Thos. A. Scott, and who, after talking 
agreeably about some of the work 1 had previously undertaken, 
told me in his gruff way: “Railroad and telegraph employes have 
been required by the Secretary of War to take the oath of 
allegiance. All ha-ve signed but you, and I have left a blank in 
the office for your signature.” 

I was an employe, and as such was perfectly willing to sign all 
the oaths they required, and expressed my willingness to comply 


THE SPY BOY. 


401 


at once. X found a written blank form had been prepared for me 
in the office. I signed it without thinking it necessary to read. 
When handing the paper back to the clerk, he remarked jocularly: 
“ They have made you sign a mighty tight paper, haven't they? ” 

It was only when my curiosity was aroused by this remark that 
I thought of reading over the form of the oath. I think it was what 
was known in the year after as the cow-catcher bond or iron-clad 
oath. It was purposely made strong enough to catch any supposed 
case of disloyalty. It contained one simple clause that at the time 
seemed to perplex me a little. It read in substance: “ I have never 
belonged to any organization, or borne arms against the Govern¬ 
ment of the United States, voluntarily or involuntarily.” 

I could not conscientiously or truthfully swear to that. I was 
willing enough to do almost anything to get around the ugly 
point, that seemed like a rock in my path, without being forced 
to explain that I had voluntarily united with the rebel army, and 
involuntarily borne arms against the Government. I dreaded 
very much putting my name to a paper which could in any event 
be brought up against me as a proof that I was “ a perjurer.” 

I was loyal to the core, as everybody who has read this must 
know; but I had — I may say voluntarily — united myself with 
the Third Battalion of Rebel Maryland Artillery. To be sure, J 
was forced by the necessities of my peculiar work and the situa¬ 
tion during my sickness in Richmond, as well as prompted by a 
desire to further and better aid the United States Government, to 
do this; but the stubborn fact was — I had taken their oath and 
I had in reality borne Rebel arms. I had not told anyone in 
Fredericksburg about this, and none of the railroad employes 
knew anything of my former experiences. Perhaps Geno had 
my confidence, but none of the family ever received any intima 
tion from her of my true character. To them all I was, as Sue 
put it, “ A nice little fellow from Pennsylvania, and that's all we 
know.” 

I saw at the first glance of this new oath that I was in a tight 
place; and, in a moment of hasty impulse, prompted solely by a 
desire to be truthful and honorable to myself, I scratched my 
name from the paper. Without a word of explanation to the 
astonished clerk, I took it to Gen. McCallum, and, in a few words. 


408 


THE SPY BOY. 


explained my action, and desired him to try and find some way 
out of the trouble for me. He had understood in a general way 
something of my experiences, and when I told him my action, 
he agreed with me, and said that it was right and honorable in me 
to protect my name. Further, on his return to Washington the 
day following, he said he would report the matter to the Secretary 
of War, and asked that I be permitted to remain in the service 
without being compelled to sign that iron-clad paper. 

I thought then that the matter was settled, and in the evening 
went home from my office, to pass another—only one more—of the 
enjoyable, happy nights, in the company of the ladies. 

In the meantime the leaven I had sent to Washington pre¬ 
viously, in the shape of a telegram to Covode, had begun to work; 
so that when General McCallum got back to Washington City the 
next day, and reported my case to the Assistant Secretaries, P. II. 
Watson and General Eckert, these two officials put their wise 
heads together, and with only the evidence in their possession, 
which was additionally overbalanced by General Eckert's former 
prejudice, they came to the hasty conclusion, without giving me 
a chance to be heard, that “I was a very dangerous man," and so 
reported their conclusion to Mr. Stanton, whose attention was at 
the same time called to my reports to Covode. 

The telegrapher at Fredericksburgh at that time, was a Mr. 
Gentry, of Kentucky, a clever gentleman, as all Kentuckians are 
that I have ever met. 

That afternoon, while lounging in the cool parlor with Geno 
and Miss Sue, I was called to the door by a visit from Mr. Gentry, 
who politely informed me that he had an intimation from my 
brother and friends in Washington that I would get into trouble 
unless I signed that oath. Mr. Gentry very kindly advised me, to 
use his own words, which made such a lasting impression on me 
that I have not forgotten them: “Now, don't you be carried 
away by infatuation for this pretty little girl; act sensibly for the 
present; why, I'd sign anything, and I’m from Kentucky." 

He was very courteous, and I felt that he had been sent after 
me, and if there is any one thing that I abhor it is being “ led " or 
coddled. He knew nothing of my reasons for declining the oath, 
»nd when lie desired a reply from me to telegraph back to Wash* 


THE SPY BOY. 


403 


ington, I merely said: “Just tell them I won't do it. They will 
understand that/' 

“But/'Mr. Gentry interposed, “the Secretary of War sends 
this word—that you must do it." 

“Well, I won't doit for the Secretary of War or anybody else." 

“What shall I tell him." 

“ Tell him to go to-" 

“No," laughed Gentry, “ I wouldn't like to do that." 

“Well, tell the Secretary I said so." 

I felt at that time that it was not Mr. Stanton personally who 
was insisting upon cornering me in this way. He certainly knew 
of my former services, and that I could not be disloyal if I wanted 
to. If he had given the subject a moment's consideration, he would 
have surmised the reason for my “recalcitrancy"—to call it by a 
big name. 

I believed then, and I have always entertained the opinion, that 
Mr. Eckert, through Assistant Secretary Watson, was instru¬ 
mental in creating this misunderstanding. Perhaps I am mistaken, 
but I shall die without changing my mind on this subject. 

Mr. Gentry probably went direct to his office after his short 
interview with me and reported the failure of his effort to “recon¬ 
struct me." 

I imagine that, in his jocular manner, common to all operators, 
he detailed the exact conversation with me over the wire to the 
War Deparment operators. I cannot think he sent my words as 
an official message to the Secretary of War, but undoubtedly the 
substance had been telegraphed, and, of course, the War Depart¬ 
ment telegraph spies made the most use of their opportunity to 
down one who was inclined to be so “independent and obstrep¬ 
erous." 

In an hour or two Mr. Gentry returned to the house—they all 
knew where to find me—called me to the door again, and, in the 
most feeling manner, told me privately that he had received, and at 
the same time held in his possession, a telegraph order from the 
Secretary of War, E. M. Stanton, to Provost-Marshal-General 
Patrick for my arrest. 

Mr. G entry very kindly kept the fact that he had received such 
a message entirely to himself, considerately bringing to me first 


m 


THE SPY BOY. 


the ugly intelligence. He did not say so, but I have always 
believed his object was to give me an opportunity of escaping. I 
could easily have done so without leaving any suspicion attach to 
him of having advised me of this intention. 

I had no thought of attempting anything of this kind. We 
sat down on the porch together while I read the order, which is 
to-day on file in the War Office, in these words: “ Arrest and keep 
in the closest confinement, 0. K,, and send to Washington in 
charge of sufficient guard to prevent any communication." 

Mr. Gentry endeavored to ease the “disagreeable duty," as he 
termed it, by saying that the receipt of such an order was a great 
surprise to him, and he felt sure there was some mistake, and that 
all would be righted when I should reach Washington. • 

When I realized the full purport of such an order from the 
Secretary of War, I was almost stunned at the direful prospect. 

My first thoughts were of the distressing effect of such news on 
my father and relatives at home, who were expecting that I should 
receive soon a promotion from the Secretary of War to the Reg¬ 
ular Army. How, then, could I explain this arrest to them ? I 
don’t know now whether or not I even thanked Mr. Gentry for 
his kind thoughtfulness at the time. I hope he may be living and 
see from this that, after the lapse of twenty-five years, I have not 
forgotten his generous arid thoughtful consideration for me on 
that hot Summer day in 186£. 

Asking to be excused for a moment, I briefly told Mrs. Wells of 
the sudden intelligence, which she received in her motherly, 
sympathetic manner, with both hands raised in astonishment. 
Without trusting myself to talk further to her or anyone else in 
my agitated condition, I rejoined Mr. Gentry, and we walked 
together up the hill to General Patrick’s office, where Mr. Gentry 
handed the order to General Patrick while I stood by. After he 
had read the telegram, Mr. Gentry astonished the old man by 
introducing his prisoner. The General was kind, indeed he was 
very sympathetic, and explained that, as the order was direct from 
the Secretary of War, he should have to give it especial attention, 
and see that it was executed to the letter; but he would make it as 
pleasant for me as possible. 

I was given one of the vacant rooms in the private mansion 


TIIB BOY SPY. 


Ifib 


then occupied as Provost-Marshal’s Headquarters; a sentry with a 
loaded musket stood guard in the large hallway at my open door, 
with positive orders, as I was courteously informed by the officer 
who placed him there, not to allow anyone to see me, and, under 
no circumstances, was I to communicate with any person, except 
through himself, as officer of the guard. 

As there were no boats leaving for Washington City from Aquia 
Creek so late in the day, I was obliged to remain a solitary pris¬ 
oner, under strict order of the War Department, until the follow¬ 
ing day. 

I shall make the story of my imprisonment as brief as may be. 
During all my life, it has been a close secret with me, and for 
the first time, I am attempting to tell the entire story, which to 
many of my best friends has been as a hidden mystery. 

The sentry in a blue uniform, withaloaded musket in hisarms, 
stood within a few feet of me during the evening; and, while I 
slept on a cot, he faced about like a guardian angel, in a grum 
sort of way, however, that was not at all calculated to promote a 
feeling of sociability. 

In fact, his bearing rather impressed me with an overwhelming 
sensation that the gun he carried was loaded, and the fellow who 
had command of it looked as if he were asking for a chance to try 
it on something. 

He wasn’t a companionable fellow, so I acted toward him as be 
did to me—with silent contempt; and that’s the way I spent the 
evening. I knew very well that there were plenty of friends in 
town who would have called to see me in this, my time of need, if 
they had been permitted to do so. As it was, I was all alone in 
my glory, until late in the evening, when an officer, accompanied 
by a soldier, came to my prison door, the soldier carrying a 
little basket, which I was told contained my supper, which kind 
and motherly Mrs. Wells had sent to me, but not a word of 
sympathy or regret accompanied it. I don’t know for sure, but I 
think that the contents had been, not only “inspected” by the 
officer of the guard on the lookout for contraband communica¬ 
tions, but that the different little danties had been sampled as 
well, probably to see if they did not conceal a poison. 

This geneious and thoughtful remembrance from Mrs. Wells^ 


406 


THE BOY SPY. 


was the only indication I received in my solitary confinement, 
during all that beautiful but lonely long summer evening in 
Fredericksburg, that there were any persons outside of my four 
walls, except the grim old sentry. Of course, I well knew that 
at our house there would be assembled the usual crowd of happy 
young folks, and their conversation and thoughts would naturally 
be with me in my confinement. This comforting reflection was, 
however, somewhat disturbed by the fear that the entire family 
might either have been arrested or dispersed; so that, the discom.. 
forts of my close confinement were greatly increased by this fear., 
until I was in a manner assured of their safety by the arrival oi: 
the daintily-served lunch. 

I slept that night—if I slept at all—on a bed of misery. At 
every turn I was made to realize that I was a prisoner—to our own 
side. Though the officers of General Patrick's Staff, who had 
charge of me, were accomplished gentlemen, and seemed apparently 
to sympathize with me, I could not conceal and they must have 
seen my distress, they were obliged, by the strict orders they had 
received—as was frequently explained to me—direct from the 
Secretary of War—to prevent any communication with me. 

The morning following my arrest, after a hasty and solitary 
breakfast, I was personally visited by General Patrick, who waa 
then Provost-Marshal for that Army, who, in the most kindly 
manner possible, expressed his regrets for the necessity of putting 
me to so much inconvenience, further explaining that, once in 
Washington, I could no doubt get everything fixed up. He then 
showed me two letters and a small pocket Bible that had been 
sent to me, but which he could not deliver to me, under the strict 
orders to permit no communication. When I recognized the 
address of one letter to be the well-known hand-writing of my 
father, the very sight of it seemed to be like a thrust of a knife 
into my heart, as I at once realized how distressing to him would 
be the news of my arrest—my friends had been expecting in its 
stead a promotion, by way of recompense for my past services. 
The other note I knew was from Geno, while the Bible was the 
last, best gift of Mrs. Wells. 

I was assured by General Patrick that they should be sent 
along with me to Washington, in the care of the officer in charge, 


4 


THE BO T SPY. 407 

and he hoped and expressed the belief that I should soon be free 
and get possession of them. 

With a kind “ Good-by," he introduced me to Captain -, 

whose name I have forgotten, and a Lieutenant, who would kindly 
accompany me to Washington. The Captain very considerately 
observed that it had been arranged that we should get out of 
town quietly, without attracting any attention from the crowds 
about the streets, who had, no doubt, heard of my arrest. 

To better accomplish this and avoid the depot, we crossed the 
river together at a ferry, in order to take the train for Aquia 
Creek from the other side, and, in so doing, we passed within a 
half block of Genovs house, but not within sight of it. 

The Captain who accompanied me, though always by my side 
or, at least, close by me, considerately made it a point to act 
toward me—his prisoner—as if I were merely a companion. Not 
any of the crowd that took the train that day with us suspected 
that I was a prisoner. And, by the way, there was a great crowd 
leaving for Washington about that time, caused, if I remember 
aright, by some bad news from General Banks in the Valley, or 
McClellan. 

It was the Lieutenant who was acting as the silent partner of 
the Captain, who kept the closer eye upon me, while, at the same 
time, he discreetly kept himself aloof from us and did not appear 
at all as one of the party. I mention all this minutely, merely 
to show that, notwithstanding the strict orders of the Secretary 
of War, and the close watch of the two officers, I succeeded in 
communicating with my friends at Washington. 

When the overcrowded train of open freight cars and one or 
two passenger coaches cautiously crawled over the big trestle- 
work bridges, constructed by details of soldiers, between Falmouth, 
on the opposite side of the river from Fredericksburg, and 
reached “You-be-dam" Station, near Aquia Creek, though only 
twelve or fourteen miles, it was late in the day. There was a 
long temporary pier at Aquia Creek, and a number of rough 
board-sheds had been erected for the accommodation of the Quarter¬ 
master, commissary and other officers at this base of supplies. 
Among these offices was located the railroad telegraph offices, which 
were then in charge of Mr. Wm. Emerick, at the present time 


THE BOY SPY. 


m 

the efficient manager of the Gold and Stock Telsgrapn Com¬ 
pany in New York City. In the management of the bust 
ness in hand, it so happened that my Captain was obliged 
to call in a business way upon the Quatermaster, stationed here, 
to secure the required transportation for his party, on the 
boat up to Washington City; and while he was showing his 
papers and explaining his errand, I occupied a seat that I 
discovered to be convenient to the telegraph office, or desk, 
which was located in the same room. Mr. Emerick did not 
at that time suspect that I was an operator, neither did he know 
that I was under arrest; so, when the attention of the Captain was 
drawn, Mr. Emerick was eating his lunch outside, I sat on the 
edge of the rough table that was used for the telegraph instru¬ 
ments. Without speaking a word and apparently intent on watch¬ 
ing the Captain's business, as my face was toward him, quietly, 
with one hand I touched the telegraph key, and deftly making use 
of my education as an operator, I signaled for attention. Quickly, 
and as all operators will readily understand, in shorter time than 
it takes me to tell it on paper, I was recognized by the answer, 
I, I, g-a., which means, Yes, go ahead. I sent a few words nerv¬ 
ously to my brother operator, in effect for Mr. “John Covode—- 
Call at Old Capitol Prison to see me," and signed my name. 

This was all done so quickly, and so quietly and effectively,' 
that not one person present suspected that I was occupied in any¬ 
thing of the sort. 

Lest I should be suspected, I left the telegraph desk abruptly, 
but I had the satisfaction of hearing the acknowledgment of my 
dispatch, in the familiar telegraph sound : “ 0. K." 

In the year following, I rode in an ambulance one day with 
Mr. Emerick from Aldie to Washington during the Gettysburg 
campaign, and was amused beyond my power of description to 
hear Mr. Emerick detail the trick that a Rebel Spy had played on 
him at Aquia Creek. He did not detect, in my hearty laugh at 
his recital of the story, that I was in any way an interested party 
because, at that time, I was on the Headquarters Cavalry Corps, 
Army of the Potomac Staff, and wore the blue uniform. 

At the regular hour for the daily boats to leave Aquia Creek 
for Washington, we—-the Captain, Lieutenant and myself—were 


aboard and comfortably seated in arm-cnairs on the hurricane 
deck. 

About 6 P. M. we ran up past the Arsenal and finally fast¬ 
ened to the wharf. Here I realized fully, for the first time, that 
the Captain and Lieutenant were both strictly attentive to me, 
insisting* on giving me a helping hand to almost every step 
through the crowds that were then rushing off the boats as soon as 
they touched the landings. I realized, with a sickening sensation 
at my heart, that I was not now free to go as I pleased, as had 
been my habit on many former trips up the river to Washington. 

The officer in charge, not knowing the location of the Old 
Capitol Prison, in Washington, it became my duty to pilot my 
guard to my own prison. I believe we went along Maryland avenue, 
or, at least, to the south side of AVashington, on what was known a* 
tf the Island”—below the canal—and got up through one of the 
stone-yards that then surrounded the unfinished Capitol. 

In 1862 there were no beautiful Capitol Grounds to the north 
and south of the building, but, instead, the whole country there¬ 
about was occupied by the gang of stone-cutters and their piles of 
marble or stone debris, similar to that which surrounded the 
Washington Monument within the last few years. 

I steered the way in a direct course to the Old Capitol. When 
we got there, we were stopped by an armed sentry on the pave¬ 
ment, who called an officer that escorted us inside the hallway. 

Here we were again detained, to wait until the Commandant 
had been heard from. After a most unhappy wait of half an hour 
we were ordered to the “office.” Here, for the first time, I saw 
Colonel AV. P. Woods, who is, I understand, a resident of Wash¬ 
ington. Colonel AVoods was rather a young, sharp-looking man, if 
I remember correctly, with side-whiskers, or, as we term them, short 
Presbyterians. 

He was evidently accustomed to receiving guests at his hotel, 
and at first seemingly paid but little attention to the new arrivals, 
being at the time engaged in conversation with some lady visitors. 
The Captain produced a letter, which a young fellow, with all the 
airs of a hotel clerk, graciously deigned to open and read. He 
left his seat and whispered a word to Captain Woods, who left bis 
talkative lady friends and turned his attentions to us, witu assud 


THE BOY SPY. 


HO 

den an interest as if he had discovered a millionaire guest among 
the recent arrivals. I never knew what were the contents of the let¬ 
ter delivered to the Captain. I presume it is on record in the War 
Department among the Rebellion Records. Only this much I 
am sure. I am not mistaken in saying that I was a special guest, and 
at once became the center of attraction for Captain Wood and his 
force of attendants. 

He gave us his personal attention, and himself took the rec¬ 
ords, and entered my arrival on his register, where they will be 
found to-day. 

The walls of the Old Capitol Prison of the War of the Rebel¬ 
lion are still standing on the corner of First and A streets, North- 
East Washington, but in so altered a shape as to be scarcely recog¬ 
nized by the oldest inhabitants. In 1862 this famous building 
was a plain, oblong structure, more closely resembling a warehouse 
after the style of the Richmond Tobacco Libby, than anything 
else that I can think of just now by way of comparison. 

The old building was what was known as a double house, with a 
large, very broad hall-way running through the center of the house, 
extending to the back porch or yard, on the L-shaped wing—aback 
building on A street. 

In one of the four rooms that opened out of the hall, located 
nearest the door I think, was Captain Wood’s office. Here I was 
“detained ” for, well, probably an hour, after the Captain had bid¬ 
den me a cordial (t Good-by,” promising that when he reported my 
safe arrival to the Secretary, on the following morning, he would 
endeavor to say a word of commendation of my good conduct. 

My heart sank within me when I realized to the fullest extent 
that I was a prisoner. I sat in a chair near Mr. Wood’s desk, 
while he, with some others, arranged suitable quarters for me. In 
due time I was shown to my room, which was located in the L, 
immediately at the head of the back stairs that led up out of the 
porch. I am living in Washington on the same square with the 
celebrated old building, now occupied as a princely residence by 
Chief Justice Field, General Drum, Senator Spooner, and, during 
my daily walks to and fro, I frequently pass the old window, and 
never once fail to look at it, almost expecting to see a ghost of my 
former 3elf looking out at me. 


TIIE BOY SPY. 


411 

I was shown to my little eight by ten hall-room, furnished only 
by a soldiers cot and a chair, and being so tired, sick, and broken¬ 
hearted I lay down, and, after bitter, scalding tears, soon dropped 
into the sleep of innocence. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


OLD CAPITOL! PRISON—BELLE BOYD, THE REBEL SPY, A COMPANION 
AND FRIEND—A DISGUISED ENGLISH DUKE—INTERESTING 
SCENES AND EXPERIENCES IN THIS FAMOUS STATE PRISON— 
PLANNING TO ESCAPE DISGUISED AS A CONTRABAND—RE¬ 
LEASED ON PAROLE BY ORDER OF THE SECRETARY OF WAR. 

My Old Capitol Prison experience covered about three weeks of 
the hottest and, to me, the most disagreeable close and sultry days 
of a Washington summer. 

I was a “'prisoner of State” within the walls of the ugly old 
building during part of the months of August and September, 1862. 

To one of my active temperament, the confinement at this par¬ 
ticular time was made doubly annoying by the knowledge we, as 
prisoners, were permitted to obtain, in an unsatisfactory way, of 
course, of the important military movements that were then going 
on outside. We heard, in a half apologetic _ way, ©f the abandon¬ 
ment of the Peninsula by McClellan, or a change of base; and this 
news was received inside the prison by the inmates with cheers, 
that sent cold chills down my spine. The locks and bars, which 
were always in sight, as well as 'the bayonets of the armed sentry, 
that were everywhere in view from the windows, seemed to sink 
deeper into my heart, when I realized that Fredericksburg was also 
necessarily abandoned, and Geno in the hands of the Rebels. When 
the crowded inmates of the prison would form groups in the yard 
in the evening, and, in the wildest glee, openly congratulate each 
other on the prospect of their speedy release by Stonewall Jackson's 
men, when he should reach Washington, I felt, for obvious reasons, 
that I'd rather not be “released” by that sort of a crowd. This 
feeling was especially exhibited after the news of General Pope's 
disaster at the second battle of'Bull Run, that occurred while I was 
locked up there. But I am 'getting over these three weeks in 0. C. 
P., as we call it for short, a little prematurely. 

Very few of the tourists who visit Washington are aware that 
within rifle-shot of the Capitol stands (in greatly altered shape, of 


\ 

























THE BOY SPY. 


413 

©ourse,) one of the most historic buildings about the city. A good- 
sized book might be printed about the Old Capitol, and yet not one- 
half the secrets the old walls could tell would have been told. It was 
within these walls that John C. Calhoun, in dreadful agony of mind 
and body, breathed his last on earth, and it is said that his last 
words were not those of peace and happiness. It seems a little odd 
that the same brick and mortar hid from the outside world the last 
dreadful agony of the arch-fiend Wirz. The Kit Carson G. A. R. 
Post, of Washington, of which I am a comrade, was organized over 
the same bier and in the same dungeon that contained the body of 
Wirz after execution, in the year of the assassination of Lincoln, 
and during the Presidency of Mr. Andrew Johnson. 

I spent my first night alone in a prison on the only cot the lit¬ 
tle hall-room contained. I had thrown myself upon it when I real¬ 
ized that Colonel Woods had closed and locked the door on me, 
after a polite “Good-night,” without undressing myself. I admit that 
I broke down completely, and cried myself to sleep. I was simply 
broken-hearted when I recalled my previous dangerous services for 
the Government; could not understand why I should be so ruth¬ 
lessly and heartlessly treated by the Secretary of War. It was my 
sensitive feelings that were so cruelly hurt. 

In the morning I wakened, a hardened, stubborn, and, if I had 
been given the least chance, I should have shown myself an ugly, 
vindictive man. It seemed as if the boy in my nature had parted 
from me with those bitter tears, and when I roused myself it was 
with a determination to “do something”—I didnT know exactly 
what, but it was anything but a surrender, or to beg for my liberty. 

The unlocking of the doors and the tramping of feet along the 
hall-ways, with the voices of the attendants in boisterous conversa¬ 
tion with the inmates of the other part of the Hotel de 0. C. P., 
were the sounds that first awakened me to this new life, as it were. 
As I had not undressed, I was out before the crowd got around, 
and enjoyed the opportunity of surveying my surroundings in qui¬ 
etness. As I have tried to explain, my room was right at the head 
of the hall stairs, on the L-part of the building, facing on A street 
north. The only window the room contained looked north, and, 
as there was in those days no buildings at all, of any size, in that 
part of the city, my view extended away across the country to the 


m 


THE BO 7 SPY. 


Deaf and Dumb Asylum on the northern hills. In the low fore¬ 
ground were the numerous trains of the Baltimore & Ohio Rail¬ 
road, that were constantly going and coming out, the tracks being 
in full view. This sight of loaded cars speeding away to the North 
—to home and liberty—was not, you may be assured, exactly the thing 
calculated to make the close prisoner, who saw them from his win¬ 
dow, feel any better contented with his prison. My first thoughts 
at this sight were, that I should quietly leap down the short distance 
from that window on to the pavement below, as it was but one 
story above the walk, where I might ouietly glide over the open 
commons and “catch a train.” 

There were no bars to the windows, and the sash was not even 
fastened down, because of the necessity for ventilation, so that I 
was able to stick my head clearly outside, but I was paralyzed to 
discover on the first inspection that, down on the pavement below 
my window, every inch was being closely patrolled by a double guard 
of armed sentries, while the commons, a little distance off, were 
occupied as the camp for the outside-guard. That's exactly the 
way they had it arranged in 1862, and, I also observed very soon 
after my arrival, that there was an inside-guard pacing up and down 
the hall-way in front of our open doors. The outside sentinels did 
not allow any one except their own officers on the pavement or 
street, in their front, so that communication in any shape or form 
was out of the question. 

The back stairway led out on to the porch of the L, that opened 
into the yard. Communicating with this wooden porch at one end 
was the front hall, which led through the center of the main build¬ 
ing out on to First street, to the west. It was modeled precisely 
on the same old-fashioned plan of a large farm house or country 
hotel. A main building, divided in the center by a hall which 
opened on to the big back porch. As "if to further complete the 
comparison with a country tavern, I found, on going down stairs 
that first morning, that the porch was provided with a number 
of wash-bowls and long towels on rollers, at which the guests 
were expected to make their morning toilets, assisted by that 
usual scraggy old comb attached to.a yard of string, tied to each 
post of the porch, that contained, of course, a looking-glass which 
distorted one's face so that I imagined, at the first sight of my- 


THE BOY SPY 41 

self, that a single night in jail had made me look like a horrible ole 
murderer. 

Meals were served by the proprietors, of course, but I was 
politely informed by an officer, in answer to some question about 
the rules and regulations of the house, that those who preferred it 
could select a caterer and have special meals served from the out¬ 
side. I concluded to be a prisoner on the European plan, and 
joined a mess of two or three other hail-fellows-well-met, to whom 
1 was introduced by the officer. There were no restrictions placed 
on my intercourse with this mess, though we were informed that 
the trio would not be allowed to have any communication with 
prisoners in the other part of the house. 

I did not want to see anybody that I had ever known before—not 
even my brother, who was then at the War Department, and to 
whom I had secretly telegraphed to meet me with Mr. Oovode. 
There is no other explanation of this feeling except an admission 
that it was a cranky freak I indulged in to the fullest extent. After 
my first breakfast, while in my little room engaged in looking out 
of the window at the shifting trains, I was surprised by a first call 
from a lady. 

One of our mess, whom I will call English, because he was an 
English “Spy”—or had been arrested as being in communication 
with the Rebels—politely knocked at my half-open door, saying, in 
the most polite way, for he was a genuine English gentleman : 

“Miss Belle Boyd desires to meet you, sir,” and, before I could 
recover from my surprise, the door was darkened by the lithe and 
graceful figure of a neatly-dressed young lady, who had presented 
herself to my vision so suddenly as to suggest a spirit from the 
other world. It was Belle Boyd, the celebrated female Rebel Spy. 
I had heard of her in connection with her daring horseback raids 
about Winchester and in the Valley with Stonewall Jackson and 
Jeb. Stuart, but did not havte any idea that she was to be a “ fel¬ 
low” prisoner with me. AVithout any embarrassment at all, and as 
if sincerely anxious to welcome me to the prison, she stepped for¬ 
ward smilingly and, with hands outstretched, took mine in hers, as 
she said : “I was anxious to see who it was that was here by Stan¬ 
ton's express orders.” 

I don't just remember now how I did act, but it's most likely 


TIIE BOY SPY. 


ub 

that it was in an awkward, embarrassed manner, tliat caused Miss 
Belle to say, reassuringly : “ Oil, you are among your friends now, 
and I'm glad to know you.” 

To my immediate relief the conversation was further carried on 
by English and Miss Boyd in a strain which, while it gave me an 
opportunity to recover myself, at the same time put the thought 
into my brain that Ed “catch on,” as we say nowadays, and find 
out what this racket in the Spy line was. Here were two Hebei 
spies, with whom I had been put in confidential communication, 
and it flashed across my mind in an instant that I would make 
some good come of the unpleasant surroundings and put myself in 
such a position that the War Department would be glad enough to 
acknowledge my services. There was not a shadow of a doubt of 
Belle Boyd’s sincere interest in me. She said : 

“I was in C. I. Woods’ office last night when I heard him tell 
the officers on duty: ‘You must not overlook the fact that the 
young man in the hall room, by himself, is here under the express 
orders of Mr. Stanton.’” 

As Miss Boyd made this observation in her own positive style, 
her lip curled with scorn at the mention of Mr. Stanton’s name. 
She said further, in words that I have never forgotten . 

“ There was something else said in an undertone that I could 
not gather, but I determined that I would see the prisoner who was 
under Mr. Stanton’s express orders.” 

This was-my introduction to Belle Boyd, and to this indorse¬ 
ment of Colonel Woods and Mr. Stanton I am probably indebted 
for the very warm and kindly interest this famous female Spy after¬ 
ward showed toward me. 

As I remember her appearance at that time, she was of light, 
rather fair complexion, and I think her hair was inclined to be a 
strawberry blonde. While she was not strictly a handsome woman, 
there was something in her manner that was very attractive. She 
reminded me of Maggie Mitchell in her younger days. She was 
graceful, and, if I remember her right, has been accorded much 
praise for her winning ways and easy bearings. Though she was older 
* than myself at that time, and the center of attraction among the dis¬ 
tinguished prisoners, all of whom seemed anxious to win her favor, I 
flatter myself that the famous female Spy took quite a fancy to me. 


THE BOY SPY. 


s 


W 

Tlie gentleman whom I have called Mr. English was rather 
older than either of the little coterie that I had been invited to join. 
He was one of those fellows who have been everywhere and know 
everything; in short, a regular adventurer, after the style of the 
English novel. He was educated—at least, we all thought so— 
because he talked so glibly and knowingly about every conceivable 
thing, and incidentally mentioned some of the palaces he had visited, 
how he had been entertained by royalty. This, with an occasional hint 
as to the character of his family friends, and the accidental exhibition 
of a genuine coat-of-arms, convinced Miss Boyd and myself, in our 
inexperience with this sort of thing, that our friend was, of course, a 
disguised “ juke,” and from that time forth he was treated with the 
greatest deference by us, and ate the best part of our rations. For¬ 
tunately for me, he and Miss Belle Boyd did all the talking for the 
first few days. I became a quiet and admiring listener, had plenty 
of time in which to gather myself up, so as to be able to formulate 
my own story, when it should be called for. 

But this everlasting Englishman talked so incessantly, snd so 
agreeably, too, about his wonderful adventures, “in the bush, 
you know,” while in the East India service, and in the Crimea, 
that, as I said, even Belle Boyd, who was a great talker, had but 
little show. 

Our friend could sing, too, as well as talk; each evening the 
prisoners assembled in the “court-yard,” while our glee club, on 
the balcony above, which was something like a stage, led by the 
Englishman, who bossed everything, you know, furnished entertain¬ 
ing music. We had every song in the whole list well rendered. It 
is easier to mention what was not sung than to begin to tell all that 
were given by this improvised club. Among those we never heard 
was the Star Spangled Banner, and kindred airs. We had Dixie 
for reveille, dinner and tea, and it was Dixie for a doxology at taps. 

We had regular taps and hours in 0. C. P. just as they have in 
camp outside. At bed-time everyone was made to “douse his 
glim ” with as much strictness as if we were all aboard a man-of- 
war at Fort Pickens. 

While I played the Rebel inside the prison for a purpose, 
because, as I have said, I determined the first day not.to beg off, and 
it came sort of natural for* me to ventilate a little against Stanton, 


THE BOT SPY. 


US 

[ became awfully bored by the everlasting Rebel talk, and especially 
so at the Englshman’s predictions, that we would all become will¬ 
ing “subjects of Her Majesty before long.” 

I must do the most violent Rebel prisoner the credit for resent¬ 
ing this sort of talk, every time it was broached in 0. 0. P. 

One evening the Englishman was, as usual, entertaining the 
assembled crowd with his melodious bellowing of “Brittania Rules 
the Waves;” he could do that song up in the most approved operatic 
style; indeed, my later judgment is that the fellow must have been 
an opera singer among his other accomplishments. He sang this 
beautiful song standing before the prisoners in the most effective 
stage style, expecting, as a matter of course, to be applauded and 
encored at the end of the act. Instead of that, however, in a quiet, 
slow-speaking voice, I suggested involuntarily: “How about the 
Monitor and Merrimac?” 

The quesition seemed so apt, and put in such a sly way, that it 
seemed to act as a match that exploded a slumbering mine. The 
Englishman never before had such applause, accompanied with loud 
laughter. It was a continuous “howl” for a few minutes. We 
retired that night, laughingly discussing the Englishman and the 
Monitor. 

The incident served to break up the singing services, and after 
that we heard less of England. It also shows that, even among 
the United States Rebel prisoners in the Old CapitolPrison, in 18G2, 
there was a smoldering or banked-up fire of genuine patriotism 
yet burning, that only needed a little stirring or poking up, to cause 
it to break out into a great flame. 

I will not burden this narrative with this Englishman's story. 
His history, and especially his secret services for the Rebellion, as he 
related it every day in the three weeks that I was obliged to listen to 
his everlasting talk, would, to use a common term, fill a book. 

He was evidently enamored of Miss Boyd, and the plans of these 
two Rebel Spies, after they should be released, were from day to 
day discussed in my hearing. 

Belle Boyd’s operations as a Spy, had been carried on principally 
in the Valley, where I was not at all known. During our many 
hours of confidential chat together, I learned from her, under pre¬ 
tense of expecting to use the information in getting South, when I 


THE BOY SPY. 


419 

should “escape/’ the names and location of those people along the 
Upper Potomac and in Washington, who could he depended upon as 
“our friends/’ or as we called them in those d£ys, “ Rebel sympa¬ 
thizers/’ 

The list was extensive, and embraced some Washington “officials/’ 

If my services had not resulted in anything else, this informa¬ 
tion alone, which I gained as an involuntary Spy, was of sufficient 
importance to compensate for all my troubles. Of course, it will 
be understood here that Belle Boyd never once suspected my true 
character. She had heard me denounced by the officials of the 
prison as a “ dangerous man.” Indeed, without egotism, I may be 
allowed to say that, at that particular time, I was looked upon by 
the prisoners and attendants as a “remarkable character,” to put it 
modestly. * * 

I did not suspect at this time that I was the object of so much 
quret Rebel homage and attention, else I might have conducted 
myself differently, and exhibited some vanity over the reputation I 
then enjoyed. As it was, I was set down as one of the quietest, 
least troublesome of all Colonel Woods’ guests. That was my Old 
Capitol Prison record in brief; and I don’t know now whether I 
should boast of it or not. Probably I do not deserve any credit at 
all for the simple facts were, that I was so sick at heart, and yet so 
stubborn in disposition, that I had neither inclination or desire to 
speak a word to anybody, and wanted to be let alone. 

My brother called to see me the second day after my arrival, 
accompanied by some officious fellow from General Eckert’s War 
Department Office, whose name I have forgotten. 

When Colonel Woods personally called me down to his office, he 
said, in a kindly way, that my brother and a friend had called, and 
that, out of respect for us all, he would permit us to have a quiet 
interview, without any show of guards or the usual censorship of 
official attendants. I thought at the time that this was very kind 
in Colonel Woods, but I changed my mind after the interview had 
ended. 

As I walked into the room, my brother stepped up to shake my 
hand, but the poor fellow broke down completely and could not 
utter a word. His exhibition of feeling surprised and, of course, 
affected me, and for the moment I more fully realized the effect 


THE BOY SPY. 


420 


\ 


that imprisonment was even then having on my father and friends 
in the world outside. With this came a reaction in an intense bit¬ 
terness, engendered by the knowledge that I was being at least out¬ 
rageously treated, so that I became in a moment, even in the 
jiresence of my heart-broken brother, as cold and apparently as 
indifferent as the worst Rebel inside. It will be seen that this 
unjustifiable imprisonment had changed my whole nature for the 
time being. It had soured me, as it were, with the War Depart¬ 
ment Administration (but not with the country), as completely as 
a thunderstorm would have turned a glass of sweet cream into a 
cold thick mass of clabber. 

The young fellow who accompanied my brother commenced to 
do the talking, expressing in his kindliest way, but in a drawling 
nasal tone, peculiar to a Down-east man who affects the moral- 
reform style, that has had the effect of setting me on edge ever 
since against this class of men, his “ sincere regret at my unfortu¬ 
nate condition.” His tone and manner not only put me on nettles, 
but his first proposition was, “Now, my dear boy, the best thing 
you can do, for your brother and yourself, is to freely confess 


That’s all he said; he didn’t get any further, because I snapped 
him up abruptly, saying, “ Confess nothing ; I’ll do nothing of the 
kind, because there isn’t anything to confess.” 

“But, my dear boy, why did you refuse to take the oath of 
allegiance ? Surely if you-.” 

“Oh you go to-. I’m not going to make any further explana-. 

tions to you.” 

Then, turning to my brother, I quietly told him that Mr. Covode 
would explain matters; that I would not, if I stayed there forever, 
ask any favors from the War Office. My brother said that this man 
had been sent down as a witness to my denial, and it was only nec¬ 
essary for me to say in his presence that I would take the oath. 

But, I could not honorably do that. I could not swear falsely to 
get out of prison, that “I had never borne arms nor belonged to 
an armed organization against the United States.” And I would 
not perjure myself, even with the orders of Secretary Stanton, with 
a long imprisonment threatening me for disobedience. 

And I did not. To make the long story short, I went back to 




THE BOY SPY. 


m 


prison. Colonel Woods, who had been called into the room and 
heard with surprise of my refusal to be released on sucli a “techni¬ 
cality,” merely laughed as he escorted me back to quarters, fully 
satisfied in his own mind, no doubt, that I was a “case.” 

The Englishman and Belle Boyd had, of course, heard one side 
of his story of my “bribery,” and, in consequnce, became, if possi¬ 
ble, more interested than ever in the development of my interest¬ 
ing case. 

Realizing from this interview that I was simply at Mr. Stanton's 
mercy, and that he was most probably influenced by the War 
Department suckers whomT have mentioned, and who were envious 
or jealous of my independent and important telegraph or secret 
communications, I made up my mind that it was goingto be along 
siege in 0. C. P. for me. The more I thought about it, and as 
each day's scanty news brought us fresh and exciting intelligence of 
the military doings in front of our army, I concluded impulsively 
that I wouldn’t stay very long; that I must be on hand and once 
more outside. I would vindicate myself independently of Mr. 
Stanton's advisers. 

Our mess was served by a caterer from the outside, as I have 
already explained. The meals were brought in three times a day, 
on a tray, by a colored boy, or a contraband. I had noticed from 
my room window that this colored boy came from that direction, 
and had, in consequence, learned to look out for his appearance as 
regularly as we got hungry, at each meal time, so that it became a 
daily question in our mess: “ Is dinner in sight yet ?” 

The same boy brought it every day. He had to pass the quar¬ 
tette of guards in front of the house, and his basket was “ subject to 
inspection ” inside the hall before it could be admitted through the 
house. 

But, as a matter of fact, the inspection became somewhat of a 
fraud, because the hungry guards selected the best bits of every¬ 
thing by way of sampling the contents, so that we held so many 
indignation meetings and bothered Colonel Woods so much with 
protests and complaints, that he was glad enough to arrange with a 
“ trooly loil ” cook, whom he could trust to not pack any papers in 
our grub. In this way our boy was permitted to pass unquestioned, 
as he became so well known to the regular attendants. 


It occurred to me that it would be a good scheme to personate 
the colored boy, and walk out with the empty dishes, past the guard 
unquestioned, and so escape from the prison. 

Looking up into the colored boy’s face, I noticed that his ragged, 
old, white, straw-hat, always worn well pulled down over his curly 
head, half concealed a black face that, while it was not exactly simi¬ 
lar to my own features, may be set down as being (with the excep¬ 
tion of the black) about my “ style,” in age and general appearance, 
if I should black my face. 

Playfully at first, I suggested to Belle Boyd a scheme of exchang¬ 
ing places with the boy, coloring my face, dressing in his coat and 
hat, and attempting to walk out with his tray. 

She looked at the boy, then at me, and, with a hearty laugh, 
declared: “ It’s the very thing; let’s do it.” 

Mr. English was, of course, consulted, and graciously gave his 
assent to the undertaking, provided he was allowed to “ make me 
up,” and to boss the job generally. 

This suggestion was fully discussed between us during that and 
the days that followed; indeed, we talked of little else for a while. 
Plow to conceal the boy, inside, until I should get safely out of 
reach of the guards, was the most difficult part of the problem. 
The trouble that would ensue from my friend’s complicity, if he 
should be detected, was also fully discussed, and a plausible way out 
of all these difficulties was arranged. 

I was to borrow or buy from the boy, his old hat and coat, and 
the patched pants and torn shoes I would manufacture. 

I was to be already blackened when he should come in, at a cer¬ 
tain evening meal, that was usually served nearly at dark. While 
he was waiting on our table I was quickly to don his hat and coat, 
and, with the empty basket of rattling dishes, to boldly march out, 
as he had been in the habit of doing, into the street, and then trust 
to my legs for the balance. We were a long time in arranging all 
the details. Indeed, the occupation it gave to us all helped to 
pleasantly pass hours that might otherwise have been distressing. 

Belle Boyd was as much interested in my outfit as any school-girl 
is over the dressing up of her new doll, while the Englishman 
gave me enough instructions and orders to carry me around the 
world. He was certainly an adept in the business. 


/> 


THE BOY SPY. 


423 


During my three weeks at the Old Capitol Prison, I made a 
number of peculiar acquaintances that were quite interesting in 
the year which followed. As I am only to furnish that which per¬ 
tains to myself personally, I will omit the mention of any othe: 
except to record my first acquaintance with a most universally- 
known war character. 

The party to whom I refer will be recognized by every soldier, 
I may say without a single exception, in all the armies. I regret 
very much that I can not give his name in Latin, but in war talk 
it was the “Greyback,” or, in plain United States—lice. 

These detestable things were in Old Capitol as thick as they 
only can be, and, after my first contact, I may say frankly, they 
stuck to me closer than a brother “ for three years or during the 
war.” This was one of the “things” that “ animated” me to get 
out of that dirty old building, that I might rush down to the Poto¬ 
mac and drown myself. 

Old Capitol is now a beautiful block of fine residences, contain • 
ing, to-day, probably as fine and as luxurious furniture and occu¬ 
pied by as refined people as are in the country, but, personally, I 
wouldn't live in it for anything, because I feel sure the bugs are in 
the walls yet. 

The plan I proposed was entirely feasible; we all agreed on that; 
not one of us doubted but that I would he able to successfully 
accomplish the dangerous undertaking. It was dangerous only if I 
should be detected in the attempt, as it would certainly end in my 
being sent off to Fort Lafayette in New York Harbor, where I 
would probably be ironed and placed in a dungeon as a dangerous 
character, and be kept there, too, during the war. It never once 
occurred to me that to have been caught in attempting to escape, 
or to have succeeded in doing so, would have reacted against me 
disastrously, to the satisfaction of those who were so anxious that 
I should afford them .some proof by which they might be able to 
more fully substantiate the charges of supposed disloyalty, that 
f-hey had whispered into the ear of the Secretary of War. It was 
quite an easy matter in those days for the suckers, like Woods, 
Eckert, and the gang of Pinkerton suckers, and others, who were 
around the War Department, to poison the mind of the powers that 
were against any persons they may have selected as a target for 


m 


TEE BO Y SPY. 


tlieir contemptible and cowardly persecution. It’s a true story, 
well known among historians, that this was being done—in many 
cases where the victims were often men of great prominence and 
rank, that subsequent events proved to have been as loyal as the 
Secretary himself. 

The Englishman’s story, that I gathered from his continual gab¬ 
ble, would make a chapter in itself. I will only mention now that 
he was apparently in the service of at least some official of great 
prominence in the English Government. He told us of letters of 
introduction he brought to President Jefferson Davis and a number 
of the leading officers of the Rebel Government at Richmond; from 
ever so many ‘’'my lords” of high degree in England. 

It was while endeavoring to reach Richmond through the Potomac 
blockade that he was captured, and, to his great disgust, all of his 
papers were “seized,” as he said, “by some brutal soldiers, you 
know,” and the vulgar officers absolutely declined to return his 
papers, and had actually been so preposterous as to send him under 
guard to “a vile prison.” 

That’s about the style of his everlasting chin—from morning 
until night—and the fact that his accent, as well as his foreign airs 
of superiority and of contempt for the Yankees, necessarily accom¬ 
panied the words, made him all the more disagreeable to me. 

The most interesting part of his story is, as he in an ungarded 
moment, apparently, while talking with Miss Boyd, who had 
expressed a curiosity to know why he did not attempt to escape, too, 
confessed that the real object and purpose of his mission in this 
country, as he had been instructed before leaving England by his 
friend, was to purposely place himself in the way of arrest and 
imprisonment by the United States Government. 

His papers were not of an incendiary character exactly, I sup¬ 
pose, and my recollection of it now is, that they were principally 
letters of introduction, which were prepared by English lords with 
the avowed purpose of beingused by the bearer in making a “case,” 
or difficulty, on account of his English citizenship, which would 
give them some grounds to make a claim for his release, that would 
create a breach, and bring about a war, all in the interests of the 
Southern people This, in effect, was the story, and I took it all in 
yery carefully. 


f l'ltE BOY SPY. 


One day, to my disgust as well as personal discomfort. Colonel 
Woods brought a gentleman to my door, whom he introduced as a 
fellow Rebel who would be compelled to share my room with me for 
awhile; because, as he explained, they were getting a little crowded. 
The party introduced to me, I recognized at once—that is I remem¬ 
bered seeing his face some place, but couldn’t exactly place him; 
when Colonel Woods in a little further chat, intimated that my 
associate would no doubt be a boon companion, as he was an 
original Rebel, he left us alone. 

My new room-mate was a man of thirty-five or forty years, with 
a face that I should now denominate as hard. He was pleasant; 
indeed, his manner was made especially agreeable to me. The story 
he told me of the cause of his imprisonment served to satisfy me— 
for the time being—that I had been in error in having supposed that 
I had ever seen him before. 

He said he was arrested for having been implicated in an attempt 
to recapture and return to Virginia some fugitive slave whom lie 
had caught in the District of Columbia. lie gave me a long account 
of the law, as it then existed—which, by the way, is the fact—that 
in 1862 there was a fugitive slave law in the District. 

As soon as my two comrades in distress heard of this associate 
having been thurst upon us, and dropped into our exclusive mess to 
become our company, their suspicions were aroused. 

The Englishman declared that the object of putting “this pen 
son" in among us was to ascertain what we had been so thick about 
lately. I confess this had not once occurred to me. I was simpty 
annoyed at being obliged to have the constant company of another 
person in my cramped little hall room; not that he was at all disa¬ 
greeable personally, but probably because we three had become rather 
exclusive and wanted to select our company from among the con¬ 
victs. It is likely enough that we would have resented any person’s 
society from outside just then. 

When the others expressed their conviction that it was a scheme 
to entrap us, my eyes become opened, as I recalled again my first 
impression, that I had certainly seen the man before. When I 
mentioned this fact to Miss Boyd, she at once jumped to the conclu¬ 
sion that lie was a spy on us, which opinion was shared by the Eng- 


THE BOY SPY. 


lishman most decidedly, who gave us our orders as our commander 
to be on the qui vive for him. 

It was thought best that we should treat him with the greatest 
possible coolness, but of course with decency. Indeed, our English¬ 
man was so exceedingly polite and gracious to the new-comer that 
his assumed airs and comic actions were so amusing to Miss Boyd 
and myself that we could scarcely keep up our show of dignity. 
Miss Boyd performed the chilling process, and she acted the part so 
well that the poor man was frozen on to me, as the only one to whom 
he could talk sensibly. I talked lots to him when we were alone. 
The opinions, the very decided opinions, he got from me, on Mr. 
Stanton and his clerks, if repeated to his employers, would have 
made things more interesting for him and me too. 

When I became satisfied, or thought I was, and imagined that I 
had for my room-mate or companion a Pinkerton man, who had 
been purposely sent in there by some of the War Department offi¬ 
cials to manufacture testimony against us, we all took the greatest 
delight in filling him up. 

The first night, when alone, I talked him to sleep. I told him 
all my grievances; at least, that part that I wanted the War Office 
to hear officially. 

I was careful to only tell one story correctly, and that was the’ 
exact character and object of the Englishman’s business in this 
country. I saw that my listener was interested in it from his actions 
and questionings, so that I gave him the full details, for a purpose. 
I knew, or suspected very strongly, that he would make a report of 
it to the Secretary, and I, as a victim of the Pinkerton clique, was 
willing that they, as detectives, should have the credit from the 
Secretary of unearthing that story. ^ 

My desire was to defeat the Englishman’s purpose, and to benefit 
this Government, whose officials were persecuting me when I knew 
that I was entitled to a reward. 

We made him sick; at least, the following day he cbmplained of 
feeling unwell, and, under this pretense, he was allowed to go, osten¬ 
sibly to the hospital, which was located in another part of the building. 

His name was Horton or Norton, I have forgotten which, f 
learned, in a couple weeks following, that he was the detective we 
had suspected him of being. When I mentioned to my brother. 




IN OLD CAPITAL PRISON-DISGUISED AS A CONTRABAND. 



























































































































































./ 





THE BOY Sl\ 


427 

that I had seen him before, he told me that I had probable met 
him in Eckert's telegraph room, at the War Office, where lir had 
been specially employed. 

When relieved of our unwelcome guest, we set about with 
renewed energy to put into operation the plan we had now about 
matured for my escape. 

Miss Belle Boyd entered into the preparations for this scheme 
as school-girls plan their tableaux. 

Her quick manner, or apt way of being able to change the sub¬ 
ject of conversation, in case of occasional interruption was, to me, 
a source of great astonishment coupled with admiration. 

One evening, by way of experiment, I was, with the assistance 
of Belle Boyd and the Englishman, completely rigged out in the 
colored boy's clothes. Corks had been gathered up and scientifically 
toasted, or burnt, over the lamp flame by our Englishman, who 
handled the business so familiarly that I am constrained now to 
think he was a disguised showman instead of a scion of a nooie 
family. 

I was dressed in the rags we had collected for the purpose. 
Belle managingthis part of the job with as much glee and interest 
as if dressing a bride for a wedding. She would stick a pin in 
here, or tuck up a rag at another place, look at me critically, 
order me to turn around or walk off, as if I were trying on a new 
dress. The Englishman rubbed my face, and, after the manner of 
an artist, cocked his eye to get a better view of the effect of the 
last touch of shade, and then both would nearly explode wit^ sup¬ 
pressed laughter at my ridiculous appearance. 

I was instructed in the best way to show all my teeth a& once, 
duly cautioned not to speak unless I was obliged to, and drilled in 
the broadest negro dialect, to which I was somewhat accustomed 
through my long residence in the South. 

When all was satisfactory, after dark, the curtain was rang up 
and I was ushered out into the hundreds of assembled prisoners to 
try my disguise, by mixing promiscuously among them for a while. 
I entered boldly into the fun, and, with the feeling that, if detected^ 
it would only be considered a good joke, as long as I Was not 
attempting to use it as a means to pass the guard, I, in ^ happy, 
careless way, went through my part in such a satisfactory mwnet 


THE SPY BOY. 


428 

that even Miss Boyd and the Englishman, who were intently watch¬ 
ing the play, involuntarily applauded me every time I happened to 
do a piece of silly business that tickled them. 

As an amateur actor, my debut on that sort of a dangerous stage 
was satisfactory to the two patrons who were managing the “bring¬ 
ing me out.” 

I stepped up to Miss Boyd, who had been standing on the bal¬ 
cony watching the play, bowed low, and, in as broad a dialect as 1 
could muster, requested her order for breakfast. She, in her quick 
way, had a smart reply: 

“Sam,you ugly, good-for-nothing nigger, tell your master to use 
a scrubbing brush on you before you come to me again.” 

This, with some other unkind observation, which Miss Boyd 
addressed to the Englishman, as to the “villainous expression of 
that nigger’s face,” served to wind up the fun for me, when, at 
the first opportunity, I got behind my door and very quickly changed 
my color and clothes. 

As an experiment, it was a complete success; so satisfactory that 
t?e agreed that there would be no trouble in my being able to pass 
the guards in this disguise, provided I could keep a stiff upper lip, 
and not become so nervous as to excite any suspicion. I was will¬ 
ing to risk that part of it. A day was set, which was to be Satur¬ 
day evening of that week, only two days distant, for me to make 
the attempt. 

.. I had minute directions from Belle Boyd as to the location of 
her Rebel friends—in Maryland and in Washington—who would 
furnish me assistance in getting back to the Rebel lines. Of these 
I made a careful mental note, and also procured from the lady 
some short notes of introduction. 

If I had gone into that miserable prison as a Union Spy, 
with the object of gathering information from an intimate asso¬ 
ciation with the inmates, I could not have hoped to be as successful 
in this direction as I had been while I was acting as an involuntary 
Spy- 

It so happened, and I take pleasure in recording it, as some¬ 
thing almost supernatural, or in the line of that providence that 
seemed always to be with me, and to control my actions at the right 
time, that at the very time I was arranging all these details in mv 


THE BC Y SPY. 


429 


room, preparatory to an escape in the evening, a visitor was in the 
prison waiting to see me. 

As I have so often said, while in the prison I had positively and 
even stubbornly declined to ask any consideration at the hands of 
the Secretary of War or his whelping advisers. This singular 
feeling I shall not attempt to excuse now, simply stating the facts. 
It was a mistake; but my whole life seems to have been made up of 
mistakes. The effect of it was to estrange from me even my best 
friends, and my brother who, on account of the confidential relations 
he held in the War Telepraph Office, was afraid to become too openly 
interested in my case. 

Rather to my surprise, I was notified on this Saturday afternoon 
by one of the regular prison attendants that I was wanted in 
Colonel Woods’ office. Of course I suspected at once that our little 
game had been found out, and that I was to be called upon for an 
explanation. This subject of escaping had been in my mind so 
much lately that I could not for the time think that anything else 
was probable. As if further to confirm my suspicions, the attend¬ 
ant who brought the summons to me said, in his polite but posi¬ 
tive way, “1 am ordered to stay with you, and you are to take any¬ 
thing you have along, as there is to be some change made in your 
oase.” 

I had not brought anything with me to the prison in the way 
of baggage,-and had really less to take away, excepting the grey- 
backs, which we had always with us. My only baggage was my 
light wearing apparel, with the Bible which Mrs. Wells had giveft 
to me. 

The purpose in thus suddenly summoning prisoners to head¬ 
quarters was to prevent their relieving themselves of anything 
incendiary which a search of the person might have disclosed. 

My request to be permitted to see Miss Boyd was politely refused 
by the attendant, who explained his refusal by saying, his orders 
were to take me at once to the office and to prevent any communi¬ 
cation. I saw that it was no use to reason or argue with that New 
Hampshire Yankee—he had his orders and was going to obey them 
to the letter—so, gathering up my coat, slipping it on nervously, 
and, donning my hat, I was at his side, and in a few minutes more 
was inside Colonel Woods 1 * office. 


THE nor SPY. 


m 


To my astonishment, I saw my brother and some stranger seated 
in the office chatting cheerfully with Colonel Woods. The greet¬ 
ing of Spencer on this occasion was so entirely different from the first 
visit, when he had involuntarily broken down on seeing me, that I 
was further surprised by his clapping me on the back, in his old- 
time brotherly way, and saying, “ Well, boy, we are going to take 
you away from here.” 

I don’t know what I said or did; probably the first feeling was 
one of disappointment that I was to be deprived of the fun of escap¬ 
ing ; but, quickly realizing the fact that I had almost overlooked 
that there was a world outside, I joined pleasantly in the greetings 
until it was explained that there were some little preliminaries to 
be arranged, in the way of signing some papers. 

When my brother s friend spoke up in explaining this, and observed 
that the Secretary was “disposed to be lenient in my case,” a feel¬ 
ing of resentment came over me, which might have broken out in 
some expression, if my brother had not whispered : “ Father wants 

you to go home, and says Covode will arrange everything right 
there.” 

The mention of my father, and a request from him has, under 
all conditions and circumstances of my checkered life, been 
respected, and, if possible, complied with. It has been my observa¬ 
tion, too, that I have never made a mistake while acting under his 
advice, and, also, that I have always found it disastrous to disregard his 
injunctions. In this case my father’s simple request had more effect 
than the Secretary’s mandate. 

An examination of the little papers that the messenger from 
Mr. Stanton presented to be in duplicate, showed at a glance that 
it was simply a parole of honor, without any conditions or penal¬ 
ties, by which I agreed not to go south of a certain 'point, until 
authorized or released from the parole. 

Knowing that I could secure the necessary release through my 
friends, and, after a word of kind advice by Colonel Woods, I 
attached by name to the paper in duplicate, took one with me, and 
walked out of the door a free man, with my gratified brother, while 
the other copy was taken to the War Department, and is on record 
there to-day , as a proof, that I was in the Old Capitol Prison during 
this time, as stated. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


FIRED OUT OF OLD CAPITOL PRISON —“ DON’T COME HERE AGAIN! * 

-my friend the jew sutler—out in a new rig—at the 

CANTERBURY" THEATRE. 

I was fired out of Old Capitol Prison as suddenly and unex¬ 
pectedly to myself asl had been run into the old trap. 

When I said something to the officials about my own expenses, 
the Colonel handed me a copy of the parole, saying in a jocular 
manner: “ There is your receipt in full; that paper clears you. 
Get out, now, and don’t come back here again.” 

I went out with my brother and his companion, first to a “hab¬ 
erdashery,” kept by a sutler Jew on the avenue. He was one of 
the fellows whom I, as a railroad official at Fredricksburg, had 
granted some special favors in the way of getting his goods into 
the army, through the Provost Guards. 

At the time, the fellow was all smiles, or rather grins, because 
in the position I then occupied, I had been able to secure him 
special facilities to carry on his profitable army trading business. 
I thought, of course, from the gushing way he had talked to me 
then, that he would be my everlasting friend, as he had so freely 
expressed his gratitude to me and desired to make me presents. 
Naturally I looked him up the first thing when I discovered that 
mv neat wardrobe had become sadly in need of replenishing during 
rhe month. I wanted some clean, fresh clothing, “sheap for 
cash.” We found the fellow easily enough; but, dear me! circum¬ 
stances had altered cases with him. When I made known my 
errand, and asked an outfit on small payment, the broad open- 
mouthed grin of the ugly fellow closed up tight as an oyster, and 
his face became solemn as a patriarch as he began the lamentation 
of Jacob over his losses by the evacuation of Fredericksburg. 

Through my brother Spencer’s assistance, I was soon supplied 
with an entirely new and fresh outfit from the skin out. At first 
my demands for a complete rig rather struck my brother as 
being a little extravagant, but when I had explained that one of 

m 


THE SPY BOY. 


jysz 

the tortures Mr. Stanton inflicted upon his victims at the Old 
Capitol was the persistent bugs that the ouilding was infested 
with, he let go my arm as suddenly as if he had experienced an 
electric shock, sidled off from me, and, without another word of 
arguement, fully agreed with me that the only and first thing to 
do was to get rid of everything—clothes and all, from hat to socks. 
Carrying my bundle to a barber shop, I had my hair cut, took a 
bath, donned my new suit, and generously donated my old clothes 
to the colored barber. 

Disguised in a new suit of clothes, I walked the streets of 
Washington an hour after having left the prison. The first place 
I desired to visit was the War Department. I felt that I had 
some urgent business with some of the officials up there, that I 
was anxious to relieve my mind of at once. 

My brother and his companion objected. This mutual friend 
called my attention to the parole, which I had carelessly left in 
my old clothes in the barber shop. I was gently reminded that I 
had agreed to go north of a certain point at once, and was not to 
return south of that line until properly authorized to do so by the 
War Office. 

Instead of going to the train that evening, I went to the “ Can¬ 
terbury Theatre/' an institution on Louisiana avenue as well 
known by old soldiers who spent a day in Washington as any of 
the War relics. 

While seated in the theater, which was crowded by officers, 
soldiers, citizens, adventurers, sutlers, clerks, politicians, army 
contractors, etc., I was immensely amused when a pair of coun¬ 
try officers, dressed up in full uniform, each wearing belt, sasli 
and sabre, strutted down the crowded aisle, their accoutrements 
of war rattling at every step, making so great a noise that it dis¬ 
turbed Johnny Hart, a negro comedian then on the stage, who 
abruptly stopped his performance, stepped up to the footlights, 
and addressed the noisy incomers: “ Say, why in hell didn't you 
bring your horses too? " 

This brought the house down, and had the effect of silencing 
that part of the audience that brought their camp and garrison 
equipage to the theatre. 

It was not so much, of a joke, however, when a little later on 


THE SPY BOY: 


ps 

an army officer led a Corporal's Guard, armed with loaded musk¬ 
ets and bayonets stuck into their guns, down the aisle, and, 
sac- at a lull in the performance, came to an “ order arms," while 
this shrewd officer of the Washington Provost Guard demanded the 
passes of every one in the audience who wore a uniform. I felt 
quite uneasy when they actually arrested and took out of the same 
bench on which I sat two commissioned officers who could not 
show passes. 

Fortunately I was not disturbed, but I lost all interest in the 
show, and soon retired to quarters where the Provost Guard couldn't 
find me. 

The only thing I could hear from Covode in relation to our 
own embarrassing affairs was: “Oh, that's all right; just tell him 
that it will be all right.’' 

If was true, though not much of a consolation for me, to be 
reminded by some kind friends that I was not alone a sufferer by 
Mr. Stanton's arbitrary orders. Even General McClellan had*been 
not only relieved from command of the army, but had been ordered 
to proceed to Burlington, N. J., and there await orders. This I 
was told meant, in reality, exile for him in precisely the same 
manner as for my own humble self, though the phraseology of the 
order was a little different from that in my parole. 

I went home, where I was affectionately received into my 
father's house by my sisters and my aunts—I had no mother 
then. Probably, if I had not so early in life been deprived of a 
mother, I would have been saved, by her teachings, from many of 
the hard knocks which I was receiving by way of bitter experience. 
My father, always kind and indulgent, seemed to think that it 
was our privilege and right to pitch in for ourselves, that we might 
learn from experience. He seldom gave his boys any of that “I 
told you so" advice, in the threatening manner which renders it 
so inoperative. 

I had made up my mind, while in the Old Capitol Prison, that 
when I should get free again the very first thing I should do would 
be to enlist as a private soldier in the Union Army. 

I reasoned to myself that my services as a Scout or Spy,.while 
working as a civilian in the interest of the politicians at Washing¬ 
ton, would not advance my military ambition. In fact, I had 


m 


TEE BOY SPY. 


learner from some hard hits already that it was an uphill business 
to operate in the field as a civilian. Somehow or other, all the 
military people were not exactly distrustful, but there seemed to 
be at least a prejudice against any person about the camp who did 
not wear a uniform. I was willing and anxious enough to wear 
a uniform, but my ambition was to be an officer in the Regular 
Service, attached to Headquarters Staff. 

This, as I have said, was about as difficult to reach as the posi¬ 
tion of Brigadier-General in the Volunteers, because they were 
making Brigadier-Generals every day, and they were not making 
Second Lieutenants in the Regular Army. 

I explained my plans to my father and a few friends. My 
father interposed some objections to my selection of the Regular 
Army, prefering that I should identify myself with some regiment 
from our own State, and especially from our own neighborhood. 

I preferred the Regular Cavalry first, because I intended fitting 
myself, by the experience I should gain in the ranks under the 
severe discipline and drill, for a Second Lieutenancy in that branch. 
My father thought that I would not be able to stand the 
restraints the discipline would impose upon me; but, as usual, I 
had my own way, overcoming their preference for the State troops, 
by the reminder that the treatment I had received from the Secret 
tary of War would serve as a club in the hands of malcontents and 
growlers, who are to be found in every regiment, kicking against 
newcomers* advancement. 

Another difficulty was raised by the receipt of a letter from my 
brother, at Washington, which reminded my father that I was not 
allowed to remain at my home, because it was located south of the 
line of my stipulated parole. 

The War Department detectives had tracked me even into my 
own home, through the connivance of some contemptible neigh¬ 
bors, who are descendants of the Revolutionary Hessians, and like 
the craven dogs they were, they helped to hound me away from 
my father’s home. To relieve my father and friends of any 
embarrassment, I left the house, after bidding them another “Good- 
by,” one evening, arriving in Pittsburgh before midnight of the 
same day. The first thing the next morning I hunted up the 
recruiting office, astonished the officers by offering myself, and 


THE BOY SPY. 


435 

without any preliminaries enlisted into Company B, Second 
United States Cavalry, Captain T. F. Rodenbaugh. 

When I applied for enlistment I never once thought of the 
bounty money I would become entitled to, therefore my entry 
into the army in the fall of 1862 was in no sense mercenary. I 
had served a year previously as a civilian and knew what was in 
store for me in the ranks. 

I was not even “in the draft,” as my parole would have 
relieved me from every obligation, if I had chosen so to use it. I 
volunteered from motives of duty and patriotism in 1862, at a 
time when recruiting was not so brisk as it had been; in fact, at a 
time when everything looked dark enough for our side. 

Instead of availing myself of the parole that cleared me from 
obligation, I, in the darkest days of the war voluntarily enlisted as 
a private soldier. I felt in my heart that, in thus putting my life 
in pawn for the cause, I had from the first consistently championed, 
that I would forever put beyond discussion the question of the 
sincerity of my motives, and I became credited to Alleghany 
County, Pennsylvania, so that, after all, I was a “regular volun¬ 
teer” from my own State and County. 

Through the thoughtfulness of Captain Rodenbaugh, I was 
paid some bounty money, which I expended in the purchase of 
momentoes for my friends, believing that I should never again 
come home to them. 

In the matter of my get-up as a soldier. Captain Rodenbaugh 
was quite useful to me, and became quite pleasantly interested, 
taking the trouble to accompany me to the tailor shop, where he 
gave the necessary directions as to the regulation pattern. 

I was to act as his private secretary or company clerk, and I 
suspect that he also intended to use my good clothes as a sort of 
a dressed-up dummy, to stand around the office with white gloves 
on, as a decoy to entice recruits to his roll, pretty much as we see 
the “ walking sign ” now a days at recruiting offices. 

In the Second Cavalry, the facings, instead of being the ordi¬ 
nary “ yaller ” of the cavalry, were of an orange color, to distin¬ 
guish them as the “Dragoons,” as they were listed previous to 
the reorganization of that service just before the war. 

I was made a Corporal by the Captain, and had the stripes in a 


436 


THE BOY SPY. 


beautiful orange on my arms. The cap was the regulation little 
fatigue or McClellan style, with the crossed sabers, and the insig¬ 
nia of company and regiment in brass letter—B 2. 

At my earnest solicitation. Captain Rodenbaugh sent me away 
with the first detachment of recruits to Cavalry Headquarters, then 
Carlisle Barracks, Pennsylvania. Here I had a regular circus every 
hour of the day, from reveille till retreat or tattoo. It’s only those 
who have seen cavalry recruits drilled with regular cavalry horses 
and old drilled Sergeants, that can be made to believe the stories 
that are told of their accomplishments in this direction. 

Carlisle Barracks was in crude form, just what the West Point 
Riding School of to-day is. I was anxious to learn to be a good 
soldier, and I did learn a good deal—in a mighty short time, too— 
while I was at Carlisle. I was taught some things there that I 
thought I had learned thoroughly before I went there. For 
instance, I had been a long time in Western Texas, and had ridden 
wild and bucking horses without a saddle, chased buck-rabbits in 
a zig-zag course over hog-wallow prairies in a reckless way that 
made my head dizzy, but it was reserved for my Drill Sergeant at 
Carlisle Barracks to show me how simple a matter it was for a 
trained cavalry horse to throw off a Texas cowboy. Those old 
Sergeants—and there were a number of them—had the drill horses 
trained so thoroughly, and withal so full of tricks, that they beat 
Buffalo Bill and any circus horses Fve ever seen all to pieces. 

It was lots of fun for the Sergeants and a few officers and their 
wives, who were always watching our evolutions from their barrack 
windows, but it was a little bit rough on some of the boys. 

We were given lessons in mounting and dismounting by the 
hour, till I became so expert that I was relieved of that part of the 
drill and advanced into a squad who had been there some time, and 
were soon to be sent off to the front as graduates. We were all 
obliged to hold the bridle-rein in one and the same way; that is, in 
the left hand, turned up so that we could see the finger-nails. All 
the steering had to be done by merely turning or twisting the 
clenched hand around, keeping it in the same position. There was 
no hauling back of the reins permitted, except by drawing the hand 
straight up to the chin to check or tighten the lines; and the fore¬ 
arm must be always directly in front of the pommel of the saddle. 


THE BOY SPY. 


437 

This part of the riding lesson was all new to me. I had always 
used my hands as I pleased, but here we must all hold the infernal 
wild horses with one hand turned upside down, and dare not even 
yank the elbow around without getting a cuss from the Sergeant. 
There were always two or three Sergeants to each drill; one gave 
the commands from his position in front, while another old rascal 
rode behind somewhere to watch our arms and legs and to do the 
extra cussing. 

Some of the fellows in our squad had been farmer boys, and felt 
that they knew all about horses, and were disposed at first to talk 
horse with the Sergeants; but one lesson in deportment answered 
for the whole term at Carlisle Barracks. 

Those old fellows all said they would far rather take a city man 
who had never been on a horse than a farmer who had been riding 
all his life. The city fellows made good Regular Cavalrymen. We 
learned to ride with our knees and to steer with the legs. 

At first our little caps would not stay on top of our heads, but 
we soon became able to balance them, with the strap dangling 
under the nose or chin, instead of being fastened under the chin. 

These old war-horses had been at the barracks a long time, and 
had been carefully trained to go by the bugle. At the sound 
“ trot,” they would all start off as neatly, with the left foot fore¬ 
most, as any infantry squad. When the “gallop” was sounded 
every old horse would switch his tail take the bit in his teeth and 
go off like a shot over the field, helter-skelter, as if it were a hur¬ 
dle race, or the whole Rebel Army were after them. This part of 
the show is where the most of the fun came in. Of course, some 
of the riders couldn’t keep time with the horses, and their caps 
and sabers would become troublesome appendages, and were often 
cast off; then the old Sergeant, bringing up the rear would, yell like 
a Comanche Indian, which none of us could understand, and, as 
everybody thought it was necessary we should hear, it had the 
effect of rattling the whole squad. One of our first lessons was that 
never, under any circumstances, must we speak to our horses; every¬ 
thing must be done quietly and effectively by bit and spur; but when 
they got to running us off by the bugle, some of the farmer boys, 
when they would be tossed up too much, involuntarily sang out. 
Whoa !” or else, too audible, cursed the man alongside for jam' 


THE BOY SPY. 


ming their legs. This would bring down such a torrent of abuse 
on the head of the offender that we were kept in a state of terror 
from the time we were on the horses till we dismounted. 

The Sergeant, or perhaps an officer, after getting the squad 
well under way, would sound “to the right,” and, of course, the 
horses new what the bugle said and obeyed the signal instantly; 
but most of the riders didn*t, and were, in consequence, involunta¬ 
rily going straight ahead or fell off at the unexpected turn of the 
horse. Then, on the home-streteh, they would so abruptly sound 
a “halt,” that the horses would stop in two jumps, while the 
rider very likely went straight ahead. 

Fm telling you the truth about Carlisle Barracks and the Reg¬ 
ular Cavalry. Fve been there — several times—and know it all 
pretty well. Why, it's a fact, that those old horses would, at the 
command “ right dress,” as soberly turn their one eye down the line 
and back up a step or forward as any infantry regiment; and on 
the wheel the inside horse always marked time beautifully, while 
the fellow on the outside had to gallop, 

I had lots of fun during the couple of weeks that I was at Car¬ 
lisle Barracks. Probably because I entered with so much zest and 
earnestness into the drill, which was really sport for me. I 
attracted the attention (favorably) of the Sergeants and officers, 
and was so rapidly advanced that my request to be sent to the 
front with the first detachment was approved. In this ambition 
Captain Rodenbaugh seconded me, as he had been relieved of 
recruiting duty, and was ordered to conduct the first party to the 
front. 

We left one cold day in November, via Harrisburg, traveling 
all night in a box-car attached to a freight train. We were delayed 
all the next day in'Baltimore, putting in the time standing around 
in the cold, miserable streets, under guard, awaiting our trans¬ 
portation over the slow Baltimore & Ohio to Washington. The 
second night we reached Washington, and slept on the floor of the 
barn-like affair they called the Soldiers* Retreat, then located down 
by the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad Depot. A great many soldiers 
will remember that shanty. 

Early next morning, before any of my comrades were awake, I 
Was up about daybreak, anxious to get a look at Washington, and 


THE SPY BOY. 


4*9 

especially Old Capitol Prison, through the glasses of a Union 
soldier. It was a bitter cold morning; so early as 5 A. m., when I 
went to the door of our barracks, I was astonished to see, wrapped 
up in his big blue overcoat, the snow blowing all over him, and 
standing almost up to his knees in it, our Captain, C. F. Roden- 
baugh. 

I did not know then that it was an officer’s duty, and one of 
his privileges, to stand around all night in the cold, while his men 
slept comfortably under shelter. I said something like this to the 
Captain, when he courteously answered that he was the officer in 
charge, and it was his duty to see that the sentries were on hand. 
It was an early lesson ; and I will say right here that the Regular 
officers, though severe and strict in discipline, I found always 
ready to expose themselves before they asked their men to do 
so. Apparently the Regular officers held themselves aloof from 
their men, and though I was almost intimate with Captain Roden- 
baugh, I would not have ventured to address him, except in the 
way of duty, and then only after a proper salute, after we had 
gotten out in the field. Yet, if I could have met him alone or 
unobserved, I should have been as free with him as with my best 
friend. This matter of Regular Army etiquette was fully under¬ 
stood as part of our drill, and the subject never gave us any uneas¬ 
iness, but in all probability saved us much trouble. There were 
no favorites in our service; every man was treated alike, and as 
long as every man did his duty, right up to the scratch, in Regular 
Army style, he was as independent as any officer, in his way. I 
had some queer experiences in this way, which I will relate fur¬ 
ther on. 

I was in Washington again, and, strange to say, we were 
camped for the first night right in sight of the Old Capitol 
Prison. 

Mr. Stanton, the autocrat Secretary of War, failed entirely to 
suppress me. With all his arbitrary exercise of authority he could 
not keep me away from the front. Locking me up in Old Capitol 
Prison only detained me temporarily. If I had not been released 
I certainly should have escaped the same day. 

The first visit I made in AVashington after my return there as 
a soldier was to the Capitol. 


THE BOY SPY. 


440 


Armed with a pass, duly approved by the Provost-Guard offi¬ 
cers, and dressed up in my Sunday uniform, I called the member of 
Congress from my home District from his seat out into the corridor 
(Mr. Covode being absent), where I bluntly and briefly explained 
that I had given a parole not to come South until released, but being 
satisfied in my own heart that it was a wrong to me, and injustice 
had been done through the envy and malice of some War Depart¬ 
ment officials, I had, upon the advice of such men as Covode, 
decided to enlist in the army, and they had formally notified the 
Secretary of my intention of so doing. 

I had not officially been advised that “l was forgiven,” and 
desired Mr. Blair to see the Secretary and arrange the matter for 
me. He looked at me with astonishment at first, and then, reali¬ 
zing the absurdity of the thing, laughed heartily, saying- “Why, 
of course, that's all right; they would not dare to annoy you any 
further.” 

I was, further, most kindly assured that my friends in Congress 
would all see me through, in case I had any difficulties on that 
score. 

I left the Capitol, going straight to the War Department, 
where I endeavored to get an interview with the Secretary, but, 
dear me, a soldier—a common soldier—only a little Corporal in the 
Dragoon's uniform—presuming to address the Secretary of War, 
was something so unheard of among the old regular attendants 
about the door that they were disposed to fire me out of the 
up-stairs window for my effrontery. I had found it difficult as a 
civilian to reach the Secretary of War on several former occasions, 
but I learned, to my disgust, that as a soldier it was entirely impos¬ 
sible. 

The lesson in the Regular Army etiquette which I took that aay, 
burned itself so bitterly and deeply into my heart that I never 
attempted afterward to address anything higher than a First Ser¬ 
geant in the Regular Army, except through the regular channels. 

On account of an accident that happened me at Carlisle, 1 was 
permitted by Captain Rodenbaugh to sleep in a boarding-house 
during the first days after our arrival at Washington City, or until 
horses were issued to us. At Carlisle there was an old horse widely 
known among all the Regulai cavalrymen who have been there as 








THIS SERGEANT KINDLT GAVE HIM THE STEM* 




















































































































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THE BOY SPY. 


m 

Sneezer.” At stable-call, Iliad noticed the men in the squad to 
which I had been advanced, all showed a singular alacrity in rush¬ 
ing to the task of cleaning their horses as soon as we broke ranks 
for this purpose. I learned by an experience that came near being 
serious, that this was caused not so much by anxiety of the troop¬ 
ers to clean horses, as to avoid a certain stall which Squeezer 
oocupied. 

Squeezer was a good-enough horse outside of his stall, or away 
from a fence-post or the side of a house. The trouble with 
him was, that he would invariably catch the man detailed to 
curry him against the side of the stall, and the vicious beast would 
deliberately put the weight of his whole body against the man so 
caught, to try and crush his bones. The only satisfaction the old 
horse seemed to get out of the dirty trick was, in listening to the 
cries of pain the poor fellow so caught was obliged to give vent to. 

The Sergeants in charge of the stables were up to Squeezer’s 
tricks so well that they always carried a sharp-pointed saber-blade to 
the stable, which was the only thing, well struck in, that would 
make the old rascal let go his hold of a victim. 

It was the custom to let the recruit get caught by this horse 
trick, and I, as the latest in our squad, suffered the penalty. 
Squeezer put his haunches up against my breast and forced me 
up against the board stall until the bones began to crack, when the 
Sergeant kindly gave him the steel, and he let go of me, but began 
to kick viciously at the Sergeant. I was hurt badly, and suffered 
severely from it for some days. I learned afterward that every 
man in our squad carried a saddler’s awl as part of the outfit, and 
when Squeezer became too affectionate with the man to whose lot 
it fell to tackle him, he kept the awl in one hand and the brush in 
the other, and used them alternately. 

It was one of the games of the men to lay for a chance to catch 
the old Sergeant near his heels, when they would give Squeezer 
an inch of the awl, and the heels would reach for the Sergeant-in 
a style that took all the military dignity out of him. 

For a few days our detachment was encamped in the roughest 
kind of barracks, located on Capitol Hill, near Old Capitol. We 
drew our rations of soft bread, but our meat was the regulation 
pickled pork, fished out of the original barrels on the spot. I 


THE BOY SPY. 


U 9 

recall now, with a good deal of surprise to myself, the truth that 
there ever was a time in Washington when I had to take my slice 
of raw pork on a slice of bread, standing in two inches of snow, 
warming up with a quart of black coffee drank from a tin cup. 

I am at the present writing a resident of this same Capitol 
Hill, within gunshot of the Old Capitol Prison and this former 
camp-ground. We would consider it a great hardship to be 
deprived of any of the comforts and pleasures to be extracted from 
a residence in this beautiful city. 

How few of those who now enjoy the blessings of this great 
Government ever think that all of these pleasures were made pos¬ 
sible for the children by the willing sacrifices and hardships of 
their parents in 1861-65. 

After many unsatisfactory days spent about the old barracks on 
the Hill, we were at length ordered into camp near Fort Albany, 
Virginia. This fort was located on the high ground just beyond the 
Long Bridge, close by Fort Corcoran, or between the Long Bridge 
and Arlington. 

I was at heart greatly rejoiced to find myself once more in old 
Virginia, even if it were only over the Long Bridge and the Poto¬ 
mac River. Though yet in sight, I was out of Washington, and 
safely beyond the reach of the meddlesome War Department detect¬ 
ives, who had become so numerous and about as thoroughly despised 
as were the army insect pests. It does not speak so well for the 
shrewdness or effectiveness of Mr. Pinkerton's corps, that I am 
able to record the truthful fact that they had not, with all their 
vaunted facilities of telegraph and military and civil police connec¬ 
tions, been able to locate me, or discover that I, who had been repre¬ 
sented to the Secretary of War as a dangerous man, was freely cir¬ 
culating all over Washington City. 

Had I been so disposed, it would have been a simple matter to 
have concocted much mischief, with the aid of information I had 
obtained in the Old Capitol of Rebel sympathizers who were living 
in the city. Miss Boyd had given me the names and addresses of 
pretty nearly everybody she had known as a friend of the South; 
but I made no use of this myself, except to give the information 
in writing to Covode's committee. 

At our camp, near Fort Albany, we were quartered in the regu- 


THE BO T SPY. 443 

lation Sibley tent, which all old soldiers will recognize without 
further description. As the company clerk, or private secretary 
of our Captain, I was pleasantly provided for in the First Ser¬ 
geant’s tent. There were but the two of us in the big concern, 
because we had to make room for the desks or writing-table and 
other storage for the company papers. 

It is a little curious that I was selected to do precisely this same 
duty by the Rebels in their capital. 

Through the good management of the Captain and the First 
Sergeant, who were, of course, my friends, and looked after my 
interests in the company while I was busy on the papers, I was 
supplied with a real beauty of a horse. He was one of the black 
Morgan type, a little small, but oh, my! I suspect that the Cap¬ 
tain became personally solicitous about my being handsomely 
mounted, as I found myself detailed to act as an Orderly to him¬ 
self and the other officers almost every time they rode into the city. 

My little nag was what may be termed frisky and spirited. I 
am talking all this horse now, because in the days and weeks and 
months that immediately followed “Frisky” took an important 
part in all the adventures that I had. From this time forth most 
of my experiences were somewhat of a dashing character, dressed, 
as I was, in a neat uniform, and well mounted on a horse. One 
little trick of Frisky’s will serve to illustrate better than I could 
describe in many words the nature of the animal. 

The stable, ii*. the field, you know, was simply a parallelogram 
composed of ropes tied to posts driven in the ground. Inside of 
this the horses were tied to the ropes. At every stable-call I 
usually went out to attend to my own horse, so as to get a chance 
to ride bareback to water. At a certain signal, all hands mounted 
their horses, and at the command all filed out of the ropes, under 
the leader, toward the water. Frisky, being well to the rear of 
the column the first time I got on him, astonished me and sur¬ 
prised the officer in command by suddenly jumping at a clear leap 
over the top of the rope and running off toward the head of the 
line. So that, at every water-call, it got to be a regular show for 
the officers to come around to Frisky’s side of the corral to see 
him jump over the rope instead of marching around in the rear 
of the others. 


m 


THE BOY SPY. 


I was at least as good a horseman as any of the rest of our 
batch of recruits, and probably my experience in Texas, supple¬ 
mented by the lessons at Carlisle, had made me quite proficient in 
the regulation style of marching my horse. 

We frequently rode over to Washington to spend an evening. 
I had lots of fun, but no adventures that I care to put in print. 
Nearly every Sunday a couple of us would get permission and 
passes and ride up to what was then called the Arlington House, 
and thence through the lines of heavy artillery sentries about the 
fortifications, over the Aqueduct Bridge, to Georgetown and 
Washington. 

At last we were ordered to the front. I do not now remember 
the exact date, but it was sometime in December. 

This is engrafted on my memory by the fact that the “ front ” 
—as the history of the war show's—was then at or near Fredericks¬ 
burg, the same grand old historic tow T n, so dear to my memory, 
from which I have been escorted a prisoner to the Old Capitol only 
a couple of months before. 

But I was going back—so the fates had decreed, in spite of 
Stanton—to this very same place; not exactly the same place, as 
the Rebel Army occupied the town most of the time; but we were 
going to get as close as w r e could to it, and be neighborly, without 
getting into a fight. 

Another circumstance which impresses this date upon my mind 
is, that I spent my Christmas of 1862 on the Rappahannock with 
the boys of the old Army of. the Potomac. 

I was as happy as a boy with a new pair of boots when the 
orders came for us to draw five days* rations and get ready to move. 
As company clerk, being in the ring, as it were, with the First 
Sergeant, I w'as privately advised that we were to go to the front, 
so that I got all the papers in my possession in shape, and had 
every tiling so packed away before the Sergeant was ready that I 
had to open up the box for him again. 

I supposed, as a matter of course, we would ride our horses right 
through Fairfax to Fredericksburg, going the route leading some¬ 
where near the old trail I had footed so faithfully while I was in 
the Rebel lines. 

I had not told anybody in our company—not even my good 


THE BOY SPY. 


448 


friend Captain Rodenbaugh—of my previous experiences in Vir¬ 
ginia. 

It will be readily understood that I was not anxious to disclose 
these things, which had given me so much trouble; in fact, I 
desired above all things to conceal them. 

When I heard of the proposed movement, I went to the Cap¬ 
tain personally, and took occasion to tell him that I knew some¬ 
thing of the road to Fredericksburg, and felt competent to act as 
guide for the regiment, and offered my services in that direction. 

The Captain looked at me for a moment, then, with a signifi¬ 
cant smile, he took my breath away by observing, pleasantly: 

Well, yes. Corporal, I understand you have had some experi¬ 
ence down here that would seem to make you familiar with the 
roads; but it has been ordered that we march down through Mary¬ 
land on the other side of the Potomac.” 

Though the Captain’s manner was so agreeable and assuring, I 
was so astonished by the revelation that he, of all others, had 
learned of my private history, that I was for the moment so taken 
down I could hardly look him in the face. I felt as though I had 
been deceiving my best friend, and he had caught me in the act, 
as it were. When I ventured to offer some explanation, the Cap¬ 
tain, in his courteous way, said: “Why, my dear boy, that’s all 
right; we all—that is, the officers—have heard of your services, 
and, as a consequence, you have in advance plenty of friends in the 
regiment.” 

I was gratified to hear this from him, and asked no further 
questions as to his source of information, but ever after that I was 
further convinced not only of the Captain’s kindly feeling toward 
me, but of the other officers as well, by the fact that, on almost 
every important occasion, I was honored by being selected for spe¬ 
cial Orderly duty with the officers. 

We marched or rode our squadron out of Fort Albany campone 
cold, damp December morning, crossed the Long Bridge, passed 
through the lower part of the city, up over Capitol Hill, where I 
got a farewell glimpse of Old Capitol Prison from under my fatigue 
cap, seated on a horse, going to the front. 

We crossed the old bridge, beyond the Navy Yard, over the 
Eastern Branch, went up over the hill, and were soon out of sight 


THE BOY SPY. 


US 

of Washington, traveling all day over the same route that Wilkes 
Booth took in his flight to Virginia the night of the assassination. 

The next morning we reached the river at some point, and put 
in all that day in getting our horses and baggage ferried across 
about four miles of water. 

The next night we slept on the sacred soil at or near Aquia 
Creek, in Virginia—precisely the same point from which I had 
embarked as a first-class passenger in charge of an officer en route 
to Old Capitol Prison. 

The following day we marched over a long, wind-about road to 
cover the fourteen miles from the Potomac to the Rappahannock. 
How shall I write it, but that evening at sundown, as soon as I 
could beg the privilege, I rode my horse down to the Lacey House, 
which, as all old soldiers know, is located on the banks of the Rap¬ 
pahannock directly opposite Fredericksburg. The Rappahannock 
river only was between me and Geno; but, oh! my heart ached 
when I realized what a great gulf it was; and that was as near as I 
could get to Fredericksburg. Though at this point it is but a 
narrow stream—so narrow indeed that a conversation in an ordi¬ 
nary tone of voice could be carried on over it—I could not, except 
under the penalty of being at once shot to death by our own or the 
rebel forces, make even the slightest attempt at signaling to the 
other shore. The Rebel Army occupied that side. 

I could see walking about the streets some few persons in citi¬ 
zen’s clothes, but all along the river, and at the foot of the street 
leading to the river, were armed men in gray uniforms. They had 
possession of the town that held all that was dear to me just then 
—little Geno Wells. 

I lingered until the early twilight of that December evening 
began to drop down like a curtain; then with a heavy heart I rode 
slowly back to our own camp, determined in my own mind and 
heart that I should get into that town somehow, in spite of our 
own and the Rebel Army. 

In my hurry to go down to the river, I had not taken sufficient 
care to get the bearings of our newly-located camp, and on my 
return at dark I experienced considerable difficulty in finding my 
way home. In my bewilderment, I ran afoul of so many camps 
and extra sentries that I was detained until quite late 


THE BOY SPY. 


W 

Our regiment was acting as Provost-Guard at Gen. Burnside's 
headquarters, and, as almost everybody knew where headquarters 
were to be found, I finally got on the right track. 

It was fortunate for me, personally, that we were at head¬ 
quarters, as I was enabled to at once make acquaintances that 
became useful to me. 

With what exalted feelings I should have rushed over one of 
those pontoon bridges and charged up the streets to Geno's house, 
if I had been there at the right time, may be imagined. The 
anxiety and eagerness with which she must have looked for me 
among the first of the invaders I must leave to the imagination or 
fancy of the romantically-disposed young lady readers who may be 
following this narrative. 

Captain Wells' house being located close by the river bank, near 
the point at which one of the pontoons was laid down, I have no 
doubt that its roof sheltered some of Barksdale's Sharpshooters, 
who so forcibly resisted this work of the Engineer battalion. 

When we joined Burnside, we found that our regiment, the 
Second Regular Cavalry, was acting as Provost-Guard, one com¬ 
pany doing duty as a headquarters or body-guard. 

This took me personally right into the big family at the Army 
of the Potomac headquarters. I was delighted at this prospect. 
I reailized that I should henceforth be privileged to enjoy 
riding a good horse in the cavalcade that always dashed along in 
the wake of headquarters. In addition to this, I should person¬ 
ally have the opportunity to rub against the headquarters men, 
which would also give me the facilities for knowing pretty nearly 
what was going on in advance of the other boys. There were other 
agreeable advantages in being at headqnarters, as any old soldier 
who is not cranky with envy will readily admit. 

One of these, which I appreciated very much indeed, was that, 
after I became a fancy Orderly, and stood around with clean clothes 
on, and wore white gloves, I enjoyed also the very best of rations. 

I became familiar with the Surgeon's Hospital Steward, who 
happened to be from my native city, so we messed together. It 
therefore became one of the privileges at headquarters, especially 
with the Hospital Steward, to draw rations from the hospital 
stores, which was an immense thing while at the front. I don't 


THE BOY SPY. 


44* 

mean the sick rations of rice, soup, etc., but the good, nourishing 
things that are always reserved for the poor sick fellows. We 
got plenty of tea and rice, to be sure—so much, indeed, that 
I have soured on it ever since, and never take tea except when 
I am so sick that I can’t bear the smell of coffee. As for rice, J 
am fond of it. As the Colonel said, “I like rice very much indeed, 
if it is properly cooked—that is, about a quart of cream and milk, 
a pound of butter, and some eggs and sugar and nutmeg and all 
the other things, nicely stirred up and baked—and, oh, yes, I 
forgot—about a half teaspoonful of rice may be added.” 

The Steward’s name was Fulton—Johnny Fulton—formerly 
of Fahnestock’s great drug house in Pittsburgh. 

It became the duty of the Surgeons to inspect the boxes before 
they would admit their contents into the hospitals, because, you 
know, they often contained articles of food prepared and sent by 
kind friends at home that might have been as fatal to the sick 
soldiers, if they had been allowed to eat them, as would have been 
the Rebel bullets. For instance, all sweet cakes, raisins, nuts, 
apples and other fruits were sure death for those troubled with the 
great army epidemic—dysentery. Pickles, as well as the innum¬ 
erable sorts of canned stuffs, became confiscated, as too dangerous 
to let pass, so that we had to eat them up in self-defense. 

There was scarcely ever a box opened that did not contain a 
bottle of something contraband—some old whisky. These the 
Surgeons usually took care of. 

I know that some of the boys even now will be ready to 
swear at the headquarters’ “ dog-robber.” I’ve been called that 
so often, and become so accustomed to it, and “ loblolly boy,” that 
it had no effect. We went straight along, having as good a time 
as we could, wore the best clothes and rode fast horses, and when 
we were not doing anything else on Sundays, we would be out 
somewhere horse-racing. 

There were, of course, some disagreeable things about head¬ 
quarters too, and we of the Regulars had a standing fight with a 
lot of fancy boys who came down from Philadelphia that year. 
They were Rush’s Lancers. As some of the Western soldiers have 
never seen this sort of a soldier, I shall describe him as a Zoo-zoo 
on a horse—that is, he wore a fancy Zouave uniform of many 


THE BOY SPY. 


U9 

colors, and carried a pole about fifteen or twenty feet loug in a 
socket in his stirrup. On the end of the pole was a sharp spear or 
lance, and a few inches from the end of the lance a little red silk 
flag fluttered. They were an awfully nice-looking set of fellows 
on parade. A thousand of them made about as dashing a show as 
can be imagined when galloping along in line or column. 

It was expected that these long poles, with the sharp spears on 
the ends, would be just the thing to charge on an enemy. 

I have often heard the owners explain just how they were going 
to do it when they should get a chance at the enemy. The cus¬ 
tom or style had been imported from Europe, but somehow it 
didiPt take well in the Army of the Potomac. The boys called 
them “turkey-drivers/" probably because of the red patch on the 
end of the pole. 

For a time they were at headquarters as a brilliant, fancy-look¬ 
ing attachment to the Staff; but every time we would go out with 
the “ turkey-drivers” the “doboys,”or infantry, would yell and 
gobble at them in such a ridiculous way that they had to be sup¬ 
pressed. I have heard as many as 10,000 men in the camps in the 
woods gobble at the “ turkey-driveis,” as if it were droves of wild 
turkeys, every time the lancers would ride along. 

We of the Regular Cavalry at headquarters were, of course, 
pleased to witness the frequent discomfiture of the “turkey- 
drivers,” probably because we were a little bit jealous of them, and 
feared, that their bright, dashing appearance might give them a 
preference over us as the headquarters* favorites. 

Pretty soon they, like the Zouaves, changed their uniform to 
the old blue blouse, and threw away their long sticks for the noisy 
saber. 

Although we had some fun among ourselves at headquarters, 
yet about that time—Christmas and January, 1862-63—were the 
dark days of the war. Seemingly, everything had gone wrong 
with the Army of the Potomac. Burnside had left some of the 
best blood of the long-suffering old army on the frozen ground 
over the river; the hospitals were filled with the sick and wounded, 
who could not safely be transported North; and, to my intense 
disgust, it seemed to me that I never rode out to any place, or made 
a visit to my friends in other regiments, that I did not run into 


TBE BOT SPY. 


450 

some of those professional embalmers or packers, who would be en¬ 
gaged at one of their ugly jobs. The weather was cold, and these 
men went about their work as indifferently as we often see the 
dead beef and hogs handled in market! 

One of the saddest duties to which we at headquarters were 
subjected, at times, was the piloting of visitors, who came down 
from Washington with passes and reported first at headquarters, 
to the regimental or brigade hospitals, in which their wounded or 
sick were to be found. Generally the visitor would be an old 
father, perhaps a farmer, sent by the mother to take home a sick 
or may be a dead son. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


LIFE AT HEADQUARTERS ARMY OF POTOMAC—SOME STARTLING* 
REVELATIONS AS TO THE (( TRUE INWARDNESS,” NOT TO SAY 
CUSSEDNESS, OF OUR HIGH UNION OFFICIALS—INTERESTING 
DESCRIPTIONS OF FAMILY LIFE AT HEADQUARTERS—“SIGNALS” 
—CIPHERS—AGAIN VOLUNTEERING FOR SECRET SERVICE INSIDE 
THE REBEL ARMY—A REMARKABLE STATEMENT ABOUT BURN¬ 
SIDE AND HOOKER—INTRODUCTION TO GENERAL MEADE—A 
NIGHT AT RAPPAHANNOCK INTERVIEWING REBEL PICKETS. 

We were encamped on the side of the hill on the top of which 
was the large mansion house then occuped by Burnside and Staff. 
My memory is not reliable as to names, but I think it was called the 
Phillips House; anyway, it was a fine, large house, with all the 
usual surroundings of a Virginia mansion of the days. There were 
negro quarters,smoke-house, ice-house,stables, etc. These were filled 
up with the innumerable crowd that are always about headquarters. 
Our command was in camp in Sibley tents on the hillside or in the 
orchard, almost within call of the house. It was my daily habit, 
when not otherwise engaged (and I had the liberty of the camp), 
to loaf around the porch of this house. Some way there seemed to 
be a strange fascination in the general officer’s appearance, and I 
took great delight in watching his every movement and in listening 
. to the talk of the big officers on the Staff. 

There was always something going on at headquarters. Either 
General Franklin, or the old, almost feeble-looking, but grand E. V. 
Sumner, or Couch, would be there as visitors, and before they 
would leave probably other corps commanders in the uniform of 
Major-Generals, with swords, and followed by their Staffs, would 
dash up to the fence, dismount, and strut in, with swords rattling 
on the frozen ground and reverberating in the big hallway. 

I saw Burnside every day, and several times a day. Whatever 
may be the judgment as to his generalship, there can be but one 
opinion as to his handsome appearance and his courteous manner. 
I became a personal Orderly to the General, and bear my cheerful 


452 


TUE BOY SPY. 


testimony that he was always courteous and kind, and most tender¬ 
hearted and thoughtful of the welfare of the hoys in the ranks. 

It was my privilege to have seen him frequently when alone dur¬ 
ing the dark, dreary days that followed his terrible disaster. I have 
often since thought that his mind became affected by his great 
trouble. He would do some of the queerest things; as, for instance, 
one evening he came out into the back part of the house, where I 
happened to be at the time, in company with a chum, there being 
no one else near. He, in his bare head, coolly walked up to us. 
We, of course, jumped to our feet> saluted and properly stood at 
attention, expecting that he would pass on, but, instead, he stojoped, 
and, with a peculiar little laugh, said, in words that I do not now 
recollect, but, in effect, it was: “ Tell them it’s all right. ” Then, as if 
suddenly recovering consciousness, probably at our stupidity in star¬ 
ing at him, he turned abruptly away, saying, hurriedly: “ Never 
mind, never mind.” 

My companion, being older and more experienced than I, prob¬ 
ably felt it his duty to whisper to me, as he touched my arm: “Come; 
don’t stare so. Don’t you see the * old man ’ is f ull v ? ” 

I believed at the time, and for a long time after, that my com¬ 
panion was right, but, in the light of subsequent events, and coupled 
with some other singular things that it was my privilege to witness 
in the few days that followed, I am reluctantly inclined to believe 
that General Burnside was crazed by his defeat, and that he had 
not recovered the possession of his faculties when he planned the 
“Mud Campaign.” 

But, to better explain my reasons for entertaining this view, I 
will explain that, a day or two after this singular occurrence, when 
I found an opportunity to see the General alone, I took occasion to 
boldly make a proposition to him. As I put the matter in writing at 
the time, at his request (for my own good, as he in such a kindly way 
suggested), it is probable that the paper may be among the records. 

I wanted to go over the river very, very much—that goes with¬ 
out saying. As I knew Geno was in the house, the roof and one 
corner of which I could see, I made almost a daily pilgrimage to 
the Lacey House, and sat there on my horse by the hour, hoping 
and praying that it might be that she or some of the family would 
recognize me. 


THE BOY SPY. 


453 

When I made bold to personally address General Burnside, I am 
afraid that I began in a rather nervous voice and manner to unfold 
my plan of going into General Lee’s lines again. At first he looked 
at me a little incredulously, then, as he recognized me as being one 
of the telegraph and signal men about his headquarters, he said: 
“ TV hy, my dear boy, I couldn’t send you on such an errand as that.” 

But I persisted, and, to assure him further, I told him I had 
been there before, and wasn’t afraid to go again. 

“You surprise me,” said the General, genialty. “ Come into 
my room and I’ll talk it over a little.” 

I followed him into his room, where we found at least half a 
dozen officers already gathered ; indeed, there was always a crowd 
of them around headquarters. While General Burnside greeted 
them cordially, I stood at attention, at a respectful distance, in one 
corner of the room, where I was wholly unobserved'. 

While waiting for the General to clear up the business with his 
callers—which, by the way, seemed to me a long, long while—I 
heard, among others, one little story that I do not think has evei 
been printed. 

Some officers were quietly discussing the recent battle; indeed, 
this was a subject that would not down. It seemed as if the ghosts 
of the thousands of dead soldiers who were slaughtered before 
Marye’s Heights and at the pontoons were haunting the memories 
of our Generals. 

And, by the way, the boys who died doing their thankless duty 
at the pontoons are almost forgotten, though they are almost as 
numerous as those who charged up the heights. Well, one of the 
officers whom I heard talking on the subject that day was, to my 
mind then, quite an ordinary-looking man. He was a little bit 
stoop-shouldered; at least, his careless, loose dress gave him that 
ajypearance, while with his muddy boots and spectacles and gener¬ 
ally unsoldierly bearing, he gave me the impression that he was a 
Brigade Surgeon. Another of the officers, speaking of the failure 
of the army, made some remark about the left not doing its share. 
At this the Surgeon jerked up his head and his eyes showed fire 
through his spectales, as he said : “I want you to understand that 
my division on the loft broke Jackson’s line in our charge, and, if 
we had been sustained, the result would have been different.” 


THE HOT SPT. 


m 


There was a good deal more of this sort of talk, pro and con, to 
which I paid no attention at the time, because it seemed as if every¬ 
body that I heard speak was explaining something or finding fault 
with another, and it, of course, became tiresome. There was lots 
of this sort of thing around headquarters which we on the outside 
overheard. 

One little circumstance indelibly impressed this one man’s talk 
on my mind at the time. Holding up his battered, old, slouched 
hat, and sticking his bony finger through a bullet-hole, in the crown, 
he said, in a reply to a suggestion: that “ there was no enemy in 
front of him, as there was at Marye’s Heights”—“ I found it hot- 
enough in my front. ” 

After he left I asked who the doctor was. The man on duty at 
the door looked at me with disgust as he said : “That’s no damned 
doctor, man; don’t you know General Meade ?” 

That was my introduction to the future commander of the army. 
And I put it on paper here now, that Meade’s Division, of the old 
Sixth Corps, made a charge, at Predricksburg, on Jackson’s 30,000 
men (the best position of the Rebels, because higher and more 
precipitous than Marye’s Heights) that equaled that of Pickett at 
Gettysburg, yet we never hear the survivors blow of it. 

I had a much longer wait for my opportunity to talk with Gen¬ 
eral Burnside alone on this business than the reader has in reading 
this story. 

I might tejl some secrets that I overheard that day, while lying 
about headquarters. My ears were always as wide open as the 
proverbial little pitcher’s, and, besides, I had been in training so 
much under similar circumstances in the Rebel country that I could 
scarcely help picking up everything that dropped in mv hearing or 
sight. 

However, at last they were all gone, excepting the Adjutant- ' 
General and his clerk; these two were busily engaged with some 
papers, seated at a long dining-room table that had been drawn out 
out for a desk. After General Burnside gave some directions about 
his correspondence to the War Department, he turned to me and, 
taking a chair in each hand, asked me to sit down, and in as court¬ 
eous a manner as if I were a Major-General he began apologizing for 
the delay. He drew his chair right up in front of mine, looking me 


THE BOY SPY. 


455 

straight in the eye, as he said : “Now, my young mend, what is it 
that you propose?” 

As briefly as I could put it I explained, what my plan was—to 
open telegraph communication from the town of Fredericksburg, 
inside the Rebel lines, direct with his headquarters telegraph opera¬ 
tors. This at the first glance may seem to be a wild, visionary 
scheme, but that it was entirely feasible I soon satisfied General 
Burnside. 

Those who were in the Army of the Potomac will remember 
the Signal Telegraph Corps. I do not mean the Military or Morse 
Corps, but the Signal Telegraph Corps. There were two distinct 
organizations doing practically the same character of work in the 
Army of the Potomac. As a natural consequence, these two army 
telegraph corps were in a state of active, bitter warfare against each 
other all the time. The Morse Telegraph Corps was a civilian or 
non-military affair under Mr. Eckert, who was located at the War 
Office. Through this fact, and the sinister influence of these jeal¬ 
ous Washington telegraphers, they were successful in securing Mr. 
Stanton's hostility to the Army Signal Telegraph Corps. 

Every old army man will remember the signal telegraph lines 
that were constructed, as if by magic, on the little ten-foot poles, 
which were stretched along the roads like miniature telegraphs, 
always taking the shortest cuts through the camps. 

I presume that every Corps Headquarters was in immediate tele¬ 
graphic connection with the General Headquarters, and that the little 
poles and gum-insulated wire extended to all the important outposts. 
This telegraph line was used in connection with the flag-and-torch 
system. For instance, from some elevated position on the outskirts 
of our lines, probably a tree-top or a distant hill, always overlook¬ 
ing the enemy's country (which was just over the river), would be 
located a signal station. Here would be found a signal officer and 
his squad of trained flag swingers. These stations were equipped 
with the very best field-glasses and telescopes that were obtainable 
in this country and in Europe. 

The telescope, being the larger glass, would always be found sup¬ 
ported on a platform or tripod, and usually leveled so as to sweep 
the enemy's country. Each of these stations covered a designated 
field, equal in extent to five or ten miles. A number of these sta- 


THE BOY SPY . 


}56 

tions were arranged so that the entire front, as well as the rear, if 
possible, and both flanks of the enemy, were being minutely 
inspected ,every hour of the day, and any unusual movement of men 
or teams were at once noted and immediately reported to head¬ 
quarters. 

The telegraph lines were generally used while in permanent 
camps to convey these reports back from the front. But in case of 
their being disarranged or on the march, when telegraphs could 
not be* operated, the flag-and-torch system was used. 

Those who have seen these temporary wires will remember that 
they were apparently about the thickness of a lead-pencil, but an 
examination would show that a gum or rubber casing inclosed a 
very thin copper wire. For purpose of insulation the best quality 
of rubber was used, while the wire was of the purest copper. It 
was made in Europe to order, and, as it was expected that the wires 
would receive some pretty hard usage, great care was taken in its 
manipulation. 

The wire, though as thick as a pencil, was as flexible as a piece 
of rope of the same thickness. It could be looped, tied and twisted 
into any sort of shape in the roughest, shortest manner, and be 
undone without damaging it. It will be understood without 
further explanation from me, that the purpose in having this army 
signal wire made in this way was to secure perfect insulation for the 
electric current. It was expected that, in certain emergencies, the 
wire could be rapidly reeled off the hose-carriage-looking vehicle 
that carried it on to the ground, even during a battle, and signal 
communication kept up through it even while it lay on the ground 
or in the water. A corps of men with wagons arranged to carry 
cords of their little circus-tent telegraph poles would run along 
after the reel, like a hook-and-ladder company, and were drilled to 
rapidly pick up the wire and suspend it overhead, where it was not 
liable to be injured by men or horses coming against it. 

I didn’t have to tell him all of this, because he already knew all 
about it. The telegraph and the wire were both in his sight con¬ 
tinually. I merely said to him: “General, I will take some of that 
insulated wire, submerge it as a cable under the RappahannocK, and 
go over there myself and telegraph your headquarters every hoir , 
if necessary, from inside the Rebel lines,” 


THE BOY SPY. 


457 

“ Why, my boy, if you were to attempt to take that wire over 
there, the first use that would be made of it would be to make a rope 
to hang you.” 

“ But I'm not going over there with a rope in my hands,” I 
said. Then I fully explained to the General, first, that I could get 
into Fredericksburg in apparent safety, under pretense of being a 
Rebel, because I had actually been taken away from there in arrest 
and confined in Old Capitol Prison, by Mr. Stanton's orders, which 
fact was well-known by some friends in the town. At this the 
General's mouth opened in atonishment, and he probably began to 
think he was talking with a crazy man. But, after a long talk 
about my former experiences and my recent personal troubles witlj 
Mr. Stanton, which interested the General, especially the latter, 
seemed to renew his interest, and he apparently gave me his sym¬ 
pathy and encouragement. The poor old General was in great 
trouble with the War Ofiice just then, and probably from this fact 
he was able to better appreciate my queer position. How very 
insignificant and trifling my affairs became, as compared with his 
own distressing, heart-breaking burden ! 

The General, with a deep sigh, as an expression of pain passed 
over his face that I shall never forget, said: 

“ My dear boy, I should like to avail myself of youi olfer, and 
will think it over; bnt,” with hesitancy, as his brow wrinkled with 
something like a frown of distrust, “I want to say to you in the way 
of secret-service confidence, that the position and location of the 
Rebel forces has been incorrectly reported to me by the War De¬ 
partment Secret Service officials.” 

In this connection I can only explain this voluntary observation 
by the well-known fact that, undoubtedly, Burnside was indirectly 
obliged by public sentiment, expressed through Halleck and Stan¬ 
ton, and perhaps thg President, to make his unfortunate movement 
over the river, in the face of an enemy intrenched on the almost- 
impregnable heights, against his better military judgment. 

Perhaps the War Department had information of the Rebel Army 
that would seem to have justified the attempt. I don't preteml to 
know anything more about it than I have gathered from General Burn¬ 
side in the way I have indicated. 

In after years, when General Burnside became a Senator from 


$58 


THE BOY SPY. 


Khode Island, I was employed in the Senate as telegraph operator for 
the Associated Press. Major Ben: Perley Poore, the correspondent, 
earning from me that I had served with the General, incidentally 
mentioned the fact to him one day, and, in less time than I take to 
write it, the dear old General was in my office shaking me heartily 
by the hand. I met him in a business way frequently during his 
term, but he never talked on the subject of the war to me, except in 
a general, pleasant way, 

I further explained, to the apparent satisfaction of the General, 
that I should submerge the wire in the river, at night, at a certain 
point, and not attempt to haul it out on the Rebel shore, except 
under certain contingencies, that were likely to occur, and which I 
could make use of from the other shore. I had studied the subject 
carefully; indeed, from my frequent visits to the river bank, I had 
evolved from my fertile brain the plan to kill two birds with one 
stone; i. c., to get to see Geno, at the risk of my neck, and while 
there, under the protection of her father and friends, who would 
undoutedly vouch for me as a good Rebel, I should be able to go 
about unmolested, and learn the position and, perhaps, the plans of 
the Rebel Army, and then trust to a fortunate combination of circum¬ 
stances to go and fish up my submerged wire and tap my important 
news to headquarters. Any telegrapher will see that this could 
easily have been done by the use of the little instrument, that could 
be concealed between the empty lids of a big watch-case. The cur¬ 
rent, or battery, was to be supplied from the other end, and all that I 
had to do to secure attention, or notify the operators at Burnside’s 
* headquarters that somebody was at the other end of their wire, was 
to merely lift the exposed end off the ground or out of the water. 
I can’t explain all this, but that is the fact easily substantiated. The 
only difficulty about the plan was in getting hold of this end of the 
wire without detection. This was a very serious trouble; but, as I 
have said, I had carefully studied the thing out, and thought it over 
night and day. 

I will admit, for the sake of argument, that my thoughts and 
plans were stimulated by the hope of getting over to see Geno. In 
my frequent rides along the river banks in search of a good land¬ 
ing for my cable, I had selected a point on the other side right 
below the piers of the burnt railroad bridge. Those who have been 


THE BP T SPY. 


459 

there will remember an old mill that was located right on the bank, 
the water-wheel of which seemed to be almost on the edge of the 
water. From this wheel was a deep ditch, or waste-way, for the 
escape of the surplus water into the river. Back of the wheel 
there was, of course, the mill-race, which was quite deep and, like 
a canal, sluggish. This race, as it is called, extended in a winding 
way up into an unfrequented part of the town. 

Now, my scheme was to watch a favorable opportunity from 
the Union side, and, with the connivance of our own officers, the 
first dark night I proposed taking a coil of that wire, and, under the 
pretense of escaping over the river in a boat, I should, when near 
the Rebel shore, drop the coil with its anchor, and make a certain 
signal, at which our pickets were to fire their guns as if they had 
discovered me and were in hot pursuit. 

Of course the Rebel pickets would be expected to be on the alert 
all the time, and, to prevent detection, I proposed suspending the 
coil of wire in the water from the start, attached to a rope, which 
I could quickly let go, and the-coil and anchor would quietly drop 
out of sight to the bottom. 

Once on the other side, I would have to run the risk of being 
recognized by the Rebel officers, to whom I should undoubtedly be 
taken at once. I hoped that by this time I had been forgotten by 
my cld Rebel friends. Once safely through this gauntlet I should 
appeal to Captain Wells for recognition and release as a Rebel. 
There would be no trouble about that, you know. 

Then, after looking the ground over, I could, at my leisure, go 
fishing for my coil of wire, and extend it up the mill-race either 
into the deserted old mill or beyond, out of the range of the pickets, 
and astonish the boys at Burnside’s headquarters by signaling to 
them from the other shore. There was nothing about this plan 
impracticable, and General Burnside was so favorably impressed 
with my scheme that he heard me through with an apparently deep 
interest, and even suggested some changes in my project. 

It did not occur to me at the time, though I learned subse¬ 
quently, that one of the reasons which induced General Burnside to 
delay the consideration of my proposition was (very properly) 
to- enable him to make some inquiries of my immediate officers 
about my past experience and supposed fitness for secret service 


A60 


THE BOY SPY. 


among the Rebels. I was quietly informed of this by a friend at 
court. 

The result of this investigation must have been satisfactory to 
the General. He sent after me one evening, so late that the mes¬ 
senger had considerable difficulty in finding me, because I was 
wrapped up over head and ears in my army blanket for a night¬ 
gown, so sound asleep that I did not hear my name called. 

As all of us were lying around loose in that shape, looking like 
mummies of the same age, he took the very great risk of resuscitat¬ 
ing the wrong one, when the Orderly gave notice that “The Gen¬ 
eral is waiting for that Telegraft Signal fellow to report." 

Everybody within hearing at once took a part in the search, and 
I was rooted out of my snug corner by the order to “Git out of here 
damned sudden; youTe wanted at headquarters/’ This sort of a 
summons aroused the curiosity of every old soldier that happened 
to be around, and that’s saying a good deal. 

It’s only those who have lived among the old soldiers (I mean 
those regular chaps who have been in the service twenty or thirty 
years) that can understand fully what is meant by exciting their 
curiosity with an order for a comrade to report to headquarters. 

They looked upon me Avitli various expressions of pity, contempt, 
envy and wonder. The general impression was that I was getting 
into some kind of trouble, and one comrade sympathetically whis¬ 
pered words of cheer and comfort; another bade me “Good-by,” etc. 

Being only an enlisted man, I was quartered with the “non-coms” 
around headquarters, my immediate chum being the Hospital 
Steward. 

As soon as I was wide enough awake to realize the situation and 
understand the summons, I knew well enough what it meant, but 
feigned wonder and surprise, and, hastily dressing myself, rushed 
through the dark yard to the house before any one could question 
me. 

There were the usual sentries around headquarters, but my man 
got through them quickly, and we entered the house through the 
big hallway. There was but one light burning there, as every one 
of the numerous Staff had gone off to sleep. The Orderly gently 
knocked at the door as if he were afraid some one might hear. A 
quiet voice said, “Come”; the Orderly opened the door, put on his 


THE BOY SPY 


m 


“Regular” face, jerked himself in sideways, stiffened up, saluted, 
and reported that he held “fetched the man he was ordered to.” 

“All right; 4 fetch , him a little more, Sergeant, till I see him,” 
were the exact words the General uttered in reply, in his pleasant 
way. Without waiting for any further introduction from my 
escort, I brushed my bangs down, wiped off my chin, and stepped 
inside of the door, saluting the General according to the regula¬ 
tions. The General dismissed the Orderly with a pleasant “Ah, 
here he is; that will do Orderly.” Turning to me, with the pen he 
pointed to a chair, saying: “I wanted to see you,and it seems as if 
the only oportunity I have is after everybody else has left me. 
Take a seat till I finish this note.” 

After expressing my readiness to wait upon him at aily hour, I 
sat down as directed, and for the time being I was alone with the 
Commander-in-Chief of the Army of the Potomac. 

If I were permitted to live a thousand years, that lapse of time 
would not efface from my memory the impressions that this singular 
midnight interview with General Burnside has left upon my mind. 

Previous to my reporting, the General had probably been engaged 
with his private correspondence, and was at that moment very intent 
in an awkward effort at steering his pen over a sheet of paper. The 
General, like all other great soldiers, was a poor penman. It made 
me nervous watching him scratch over the paper, so that I felt like 
volunteering my services as an amanuensis to help him out of his 
labor, though I am a poor penman myself—which, by the way, is 
the only clairp. that I have for comparison with great men. 

Almost everybody is familiar with the broad, honest, generous 
face of Burnside, with his English side-whiskers — “Burnsides”; 
but, like most pictures, it fails entirely to show him with his face 
lighted up by his happy, encouraging smile. 

Though there were upward of a hundred thousand soldiers sleep¬ 
ing on that cold, inhospitable ground in this darkness, all was as 
quiet in the Army of the Potomac along the Rappahannock at that 
hour as if it were a great national cemetery containing a hundred 
thousand quiet graves. As I sat there and watched the GeneraPs 
features as he continued to write, the thought occurred to my mind 
that this one man could, by a word, call into active life every one 
of those around, not only on this, but on the other side of the river. 


Right over the little Rappahannock River, on every one of the 
hills that were in the background, we knew well enough was another 
sleeping army; but their dreary winter camps were enlivened some¬ 
what by their hundreds of cheerful campfires, the light from which 
seemed to flicker in our faces a happy sort of defiance at our wretched 
darkness. All along the river front, almost within gunshot of our 
headquarters, was stretched a line of camp-fires at such regular inter* 
Vais that the scene resembled the lights of lamps on a long, winding 
street. They were allowed camp-fires on their picket-lines. We 
were prohibited" from lighting a match at the front. 

After the General had finished his task of writing and sealing 
the note, he rose from his chair, threw up both arms, as if to stretch 
himself out of a cramp, as he walked toward me, saying, abruptly : 
“ Jt seems to me, young man, that you are in a position that will 
enable you to do us great service.” 

When I made a move to get on my feet to assume the soldier’s 
first position of attention, the General motioned me back into my 
chair, with a command to : “ Sit still; I want to stretch my legs a 
little while I talk this matter over,” and he halted in front of me 
as he put the question : “ Do you think you can get to the other side 
in safety to yourself?” 

I assured him that I had no doubt of that whatever, and went 
on to explain that my recent relations with the people there would 
serve to protect me, but that I must not go in the uniform of a Fed¬ 
eral soldiei’. 

“Are you sure that your friends over there have.not heard of 
your being in the army ? ” 

I thought not—indeed, I was sure they had not—as some of my 
best friends in the North were not aware of the step, because I had 
not joined with any of the State troops, but had united with the 
Regulars, where I had become lost, as it were, among strangers. 

During this examination I had assumed that, as a matter of 
course, my proposition to submerge the cable was in the General s 
mind. I had spent some time and considerable labor in the inter¬ 
val in carefully preparing a section of the soft rubber or insulated 
wire for this use. Sufficient length had been carefully selected and 
tested with the electrical batteries, and then I had put the whole 
Quartermaster’s Department in a stew by a requisiton, approved by 


THE EOT SPY. 


4?* 

headquarters, for some linseed oil, which was something that was 
not iir the regulation list. I wanted to use the oil as additional 
coating to the rubber, as a better protection in the water. After 
much red-tape business, I got some oil, and put my coil of selected 
wire into the barrel for a good soaking. 

When I began to tell the General about this additional security, 
he interrupted me: “Oh, never mind about that now. I fully 
appreciate your ingenuity, and believe that some such plan might 
become practicable hereafter, but (with an impressiveness that I 
shall never forget) we know pretty well the extent and disposition of 
the enemy’s forces over there.” 

With a deep sigh he hesitated a moment, as if recalling his 
recent battle, that had so terribly demonstrated this fact. 

“The Government was deceived to a great extent by Scouts; 
what I now desire is to deceive the Rebels.” 

I didn’t “ catch on,” which the General probably discovered by 
his intent look into my eye. 

“We must deceive them the next time; and if you are willing 
to take the risk on yourself of going into their lines, you can no 
doubt aid us very much better than by taking the wire along with 
you.” 

I expressed so decided a willingness to do anything, that the 
General smilingly said : “ I see that you will do; and, as you have 
explained, it will be no great risk to you personally, I am satisfied 
to have you make the attempt.” After a few more words of 
friendly caution, the General said, finally : “ It will be better that 
you should make the crossing either above or below, and come up 
into the city. A few signals may be arranged beforehand with some 
of the Signal officers, which you can, no doubt, perfect yourself bet¬ 
ter than I.” 

I assured him that this could be easily done, and with a word 
or two more of caution and a suggestion to arrange my signals, 
and when I was ready to go to report to him, the General bade me 
“ Good-night.” 

I left General Burnside’s office that night without any -very 
clear understanding of what he wanted me to do. I was only sure 
that I was expected to go over into the town for a purpose which 
he had not yet explained. This was sufficient for me. I went olf 


THE BOY SPY. 


C6> 

in the dark to find my blanket, my head swimming with delight at 
the prospect of personally serving the General of the Army ajid 
the Government in a way that would at once secure advancement 
for me; but, best of all, I should at the same time be able to see 
Geno; and perhaps the fortune of war would be so altered by 
another move as to. enable me to escort her and the Wells family 
away from the ill-fated old town. 

But I shall leave the romantic portion—the love story—out of 
this narratiye of fact. Perhaps some person better able than 
myself may in the future weave a romance from these plain state¬ 
ments of facts that I have somewhat reluctantly been putting down 
from time to time, in the midst of the bustle and confusion of my 
later-day work of a newspaper correspondent at Washington, yet 
scouting around among Rebels for news. 

I found my blanket undisturbed during my absence. It had 
served as a sort of claim to that part of the floor in the large room 
over which were scattered a half-dozen sleeping men. One of the 
boys was wide enough awake to begin questioning me in regard to 
the nature of my business with the “old man”—the General was 
always the “ old man,” you know. In anticipation of this, and 
remembering a word of caution from the General, I had fixed up 
in my own mind a plan to put them on the wrong track. I 
explained—very confidentially, of course, knowing very well that 
it would get out the better and be believed if in that form—that I 
was to be questioned about the material necessary to build a tele¬ 
graph line up to Washington on our side of the river. 

It will be remembered that there was no direct communication 
with Washington by land from the army at Fredericksburg. 
Ostensibly, the Union forces occupied that portion of the territory, 
but, practically, the Rebel residenters, bushwhackers and guerrillas, 
assisted by Stuart’s cavalry, infested the entire region between 
Alexandria or Manassas and Fredericksburg. Occasionally our 
cavalry were up in that region about some of the upper fords of the 
Rappahannock, but it was to all intents and purposes the enemy’s 
country. 

It was expected that I would convey some false or misleading 
information as coming from our forces to the Rebel officers. In a 
word, I was to become a decoy-duck. 


THE BOY SPY. 


46t> 


While lying there all alone thinking this over carefully, and the 
exuberance of my feelings over a personal and pleasant interview 
with the General had subsided, I began to realize the dangerous 
position in which I might be placed. 

The character of the decoy messages, and the manner of convey¬ 
ing them, the General had discreetly kept from me until the time 
for action. I was satisfied that I could easily get through to the 
Rebel headquarters and perhaps see General Lee personally. My 
“sympathizer ”—Old Capitol story—would, no doubt, take well, 
especially in Fredericksburg. 

The first danger that I should encounter would be a chance 
recognition of my “former services,” but this was only equal to 
about one in a thousand. The only matter that I feared at all was 
going into the Rebel headquarters as the bearer of any important 
apers; they might, notwithstanding my friends in Fredericksburg, 
become suspicious and, perhaps, be induced to keep a watch over me 
as a sort of hostage for their fulfillment. If the intelligence I had 
taken to them had misled and caused disaster to their army, I would 
have to suffer. 

The only way to circumvent this was to get out of the way 
before it w r as too late. Geno was over on that side, and the pros¬ 
pect of once more seeing her settled in my young impulsive heart 
the question. I determined that I would go, and go, too, as soon 
as possible; and with this thought fixed, in my mind, I at last went 
off into a sound sleep, to dream of the happy hour when I should 
again take her hand in mine and tell her of the difficulties and the 
dangers I had met and so persistently overcome, that I might once 
more enjoy the happiness of being near her. 

All the different headquarters were in direct communication 
with each other and the General Headquarters, as well as the Signal 
Station, from their points of observation, by means of this wirp 
signal telegraph, which I have described. 

This field telegraph was operated on the “induction” principle, 
which is the basis of the telephone patent. In the field telegraph, 
instead of vibrations, the induced current causes the deflection of a 
sensitive needle, which noisily points to letters of the alphabet on 
a dial synchronously with the transmitting apparatus. 

Compared with the Morse system, it was a little tedious, and, at 


466 


THE BOY SPY. 


times, as uncertain as a telephone. It had the advantage, however, 
of simplicity. We called these “ coffee-mill telegraphs.” Since the 
war the ee coffee-mill,” or English system, has been greatly improved 
— the same principle operating the Atlantic cables. Instead of a 
needle revolving on the face of a dial, it is made by a wave of elec¬ 
tricity, to simply dip or deflect, as desired, either to the right or the 
left of a zero point. 

In this way the two simplest of all known characters are formed; 
i. e., the “ dot” and the “dash” of the American Morse system. 

This principle has an important bearing, not only in the action 
of this narrative, but it is the basis of a system of signals first 
applied to use in war by myself, as developing the practicability of 
signaling from even the inside of an enemy’s line into headquarters 
of his opponent. Since our war developed its uses, it has been 
adopted by nearly all the Governments of the earth. 

It was designed by myself that, instead of being burdened by 
the attempt to lay a cable under the water and concealed in the 
earth, through which it was hoped to signal, that I should go over 
to Fredericksburg and, once safely in Geno’s home, I could, by 
visual signals, communicate directly with an accomplished signal 
officer to be located at the Lacey House. 

This was entirely practicable. Captain Wells’ house was barely 
discernable from the Lacey House. I was to take a position at a 
certain window in the Wells’ House and, when alone, signal 
directly over the water and throughthe air to a window in the Lacey 
House, by the simple use of this dot and dash system. 

Those who have seen the signal-flags and torches will remember 
that there were but two simple motions, one to the left and the other 
to the right of a perpendicular—the stroke down, or in front, merely 
signifies a stop—the dot (or No. 2) is represented by a quick motion 
to the right; a dash (or No. 1) by a motion to the left of a sender. 

At the end of each word, abbreviation, conventional or pre¬ 
arranged signal, a “ front” motion is made. 

I put in the cold days and long nights in studying up signals 
and in arranging with my “pard ” for their exchange. He entered 
heartily into the scheme, believing, as we all did, that I, of all 
others, was just the person to undertake the business, because I 
would be recognized as a Rebel in that town. 


THE BOY SPY. 


467 


From an up-stairs window of the Lacey House we discovered that 
two windows of Captain Wells* house were plainly visible. There 
was also, a single “dormer” window in the roof, which the bom¬ 
bardment had seriously damaged. 

These up stairs windows were visible over the top of another 
house that stood between it and the river. 

There was no other point on our side of the river from which 
signals could be quietly made that would not attract the attention 
of the watchful Rebels. Even from an obscure window of the Lacey 
House we feared it would be risky to attempt any demonstration 
in the way of signals. It was on this account settled upon that very 
few, if any, signals should be made to me. 

There would be only some common recognition of my presence. 
We arranged that when one shutter of the Lacey House window 
was open it would signify to me in the Rebel lines that my man had 
his telescope leveled at my window, of which I was to open one shut¬ 
ter to signify my presence in that room. 

Now, the telescopes used in the United States Signal Service 
were of the very best character. It will seem to many to be an 
exaggerated statement when I assert that I have distinctly and 
clearly read flag-signals a distance of twenty-five miles, and these at 
the rate of fifteen to twenty words a minute, too. At night torbh- 
signals may be distinctly read by this method. It is only necessary 
that the exact point or bearings of the distant signal station be 
known. For this purpose a first-class pocket compass was furnished 
each signal officer. 

In this case it was not necessary to see the compass to find the 
window, but we located with the telescope and compass certain 
other points miles to Hie /ear of Marye's Heights and the Rebel 
Army, which I was to find in case the window was not available. 

The window was altogether the best point, provided I could get 
use of it, because I could sit back in the shadow, and out of view of 
any person outside, and be seen by the use of the telescope, espec¬ 
ially at night. 

With my hand, or with a wand or a fan, I was supposed to seat 
myself in that room, my feet cocked up on a window-sill, smoking 
a cigar and nonchalantly signal or spell out this one-two alphabet 
by the waves of a fan. The objection to that was that it was winter- 





TRB BOr tiFY. 


time, and fans were not necessary, but it was generally anderstood 
that I was to use anything that happened to suit best, and to change 
as often as possible—merely to show a right and left motion was ail 
that was necessary. 

Circumstances may arise in the future m which some such con¬ 
ditions may be availed of, as they were in our war on more tliau 
one occasion. Exactly what I was to telegrajfli back did not occur 
to me. In fact General Burnside did not seem to attach very much 
importance to this part of the plan, which was more attractive to 
my own and my chum’s mind than his decoy matter. 

It was my intention to travel at will, through my Kebel friends 
in the town, and, if possible, get into the lines even to General Lee’s 
headquarters, and hear their telegraph instruments, and if anything 
important was learned I should at once “open my half-shutter” 
and watch for the open half-shutter in the Lacey House. When 
they were ready to “receive” both shutters were to be opened, and 
as long as both remained opened they were “getting me down” in 
black and white. In case of the loss of a signal or a word, an 
attempt would be made to close one shutter, when I would see that 
I was to stop until signaled to “go ahead” by the opening of both 
shutters again. 

It is not to be understood that it was expected of me to “spell 
out,” by this motion system, every word that I might want to com¬ 
municate over the river. There is scarcely a word in general use 
that was not abbreviated by the phonetic spelling and pronuncia¬ 
tion, so that every message became a blind cipher, excepting to 
those who understood the phonetic system. For instance, the long 
word “communicate,” which I have just used here, is reduced to 
two simple letters, as follows : 

Communicate.. .km. Communication. kmn. 

Communicating.king. Communicated.kind. 

The suffixes ing, ed, tion and ty to this word, and wherever 
they occur, were shortened by the use of the letters g, d, n, and y, 
respectively. I can “ communicate ” with a flag in shorthand as 
rapidly and as correctly at a distance of twenty miles as our official 
reporters will at twenty feet, and if the weather does permit the 
use of flags, a battery of guns can be made to “km” as far as they 
can be heard, in a storm or in the dark. 






THE BOY SPY, 


469 

For my own especial purpose, we liacl arranged a few additional 
signals by which I was to quickly “km” with headquarters. For 
instance, the important information that I had been successful in 
spreading the false information was to be known by a continuous 
repetition of the signals “sk, sk, sk,” signifying successful. 

I felt that I could with perfect safety to myself stand on the 
oank of the river, and, while apparently using my handkerchief in 
an ordinary way, make these two simple signs so that it would be 
readily understood. If I signaled re-rd, it meant General Lee was 
in Richmond; or Lt. was not Lieutenant, as would be supposed by 
any signal officer, but meant Longstreet; while a simple X was for 
Stonewall Jackson. Enh was “enough.” 

Before everything was in readiness, I was looking for an oppor¬ 
tunity to see General Burnside and tell him of the character of our 
arrangements. I was disappointed in not seeing him for a couple 
of days; my recollection is that he was in Washington. Any way, 
I felt at the time that he was not as much interested in the matter 
as I had supposed he would be. 

Finally, I succeeded in seeing the General, but not alone; indeed, 
he was seldom, if ever, without some sort of company. When he 
stopped his conversation long enough to hear me, he simply said, in 
his polite, kindly way: “Well, you come in and see me again, 
wonT you ? ” 

Of course that settled it for that interview, and I had to go off 
disappointed. I watched for the next opportunity, and when I 
sent a little note to his room to say that I was ready, he surprised 
me by sending out to see me one of his Staff officers, who, holding 
my note in his open hand, came up to me and began to explain that 
the General had directed him to see me, etc. 

This officer said, very kindly: “ The General has informed me 
of your proposed service, and has directed me to afford you every 
facility possible. What can I do for you ? He is very much occu¬ 
pied just now.” 

That was very kind, but it was hot exactly satisfactory, as I 
wanted to talk to the General; however, I told this officer I wanted 
to cross the river below the town, under the guise of a deserter, and, 
once over, to act as I should find best. He heard of my proposed 
signaling with amazement, and after explaining his grave doubts 


kio 


THE BOY SPY. 


about the safety of such an undertaking, lie told me, with a signifi¬ 
cant confidence for such a short acquaintance : “ The army is to move 
in a few days right over into the town precisely as we did before. The 
General, you know, is determined to make a success of his former 
plan, but he especially desires that the Rebels should be led to 
believe that he proposed to cross below. Therefore, he directed me 
to say that the only directions he had were that the enemy should be 
made to believe this, and directed me to confer with you as to the 
best method of accomplishing this result.” 

He went on further to detail a plan of crossing the army at a 
place called Hoop-pole Terry, and said they would make a demon¬ 
stration in that direction, but they would cross into the town 
again. 

It never once occurred to my innocent heart that this smooth- 
talking Yankee officer was lying to me. They did not intend to 
cross at the town, and he knew it. At this very time General Burn¬ 
side was planning his campaign to cross above the town some dis¬ 
tance, at Banks or United States Fords, and he was only prevented 
from doing so by the “stick-in-the-mud.” 

In stating so positively that he intended to redeem the army and 
“lead his own Ninth Corps” up that hill, right through town as 
before, he purposely and, perhaps, wisely deceived me, and I was in 
turn to further deceive, or attempt to deceive the Rebels bv making 
them think he was to cross twenty miles below. 

After I had gotten under my blanket, the night following the 
interview with General Burnside’s Staff-officer, I instinctively felt 
it was my last peaceful sleep under the protection of the old flag. 

It was then, when alone with myself, that I camly and dispas¬ 
sionately thought over the entire matter. 

I will admit that I was a little bit cowardly when the time neared 
for working this case in the dark. I am not afraid, however, to 
put myself down here in cold type as being afraid of the Rebels. 1 
may be permitted to say, that no one soldier, in all that army, 
carried a greater risk than myself in being there. 

It will be understood the prime motive with me was a longing 
desire to see Geno. For her dear sake I was willing to risk my life, 
knowing, if I were successful, I should win promotion and Geno at 
the same time. 


THE BOY SPY . 


471 

x recalled, with feelings of intense gratification, the Staff-officer’s 
words : “ We shall cross into the town again as we did before.” 

It occurred to my dull comprehension that if this were to be so 
what woul£ be the use ill my taking any risk on myself to find Geno, 
by going ov<sr into the hands of the enemy, in advance of the army. 

I reasoned very clearly, the more I thought over it, that it 
would be decidedly safer, and in every way better to answer my 
purpose, to ride a horse over the pontoons under the protection of 
our cannon than to go over alone only a day or two in advance. 

General Burnside’s Staff-officer, in thus lying to me about the 
crossing, unintentionally over-reached himself. But I had said to 
the General that I would go, and all the preparations had been 
made to signal. I could not, therefore, decently back down on my 
own proposal. 

I was a coward both ways—afraid to go and afraid not to go. 

I concluded, by way of compromise, to do as a great many of our 
Generals have done, who were also afraid sometimes—I would pro¬ 
crastinate, in hopes the army would move before I did—I would also 
make a “ demonstration 99 below town, but hope to get into town 
by the convenient method of the pontoons. 

The scene of this adventure is, of course, along the Rappahan¬ 
nock, the season that of the dreadful winter of 1862-3, on Staf¬ 
ford Heights, once the farm of Mrs. Washington, the mother of 
the Father of his Country. 

The scenery was changing, like that on the stage, from the 
“snowy shroud that winter weaves around the dying year” to the 
more disagreeable mud that Virginia alone can supply, and that so 
effectively tied up everything that does not go on wings. In addi¬ 
tion to the innumerable enemies in the front, in the rear, and on the 
flanks, that the old Army of the Potomac had to contend with, one 
of the most obstinate was the mud. 

It was arranged that I should be quietly furnished with the 
facilities to enable me to “desert” over the river. All these 
arrangements were practically in my own hands. Everything that 
I desired was cheerfully afforded me. 

During two of the coldest, most disagreeable days and nights of 
that memorable winter, I bivouaced with our cavalry outposts, located 
on the river bank some distance below the town. 


Ip2 


TEE BOY SPY, 


I was there for the purpose of watching a favorable opportunity 
to desert to the other side. 

That I did not go, was not to be charged to a lack of facilities. 
I was not in a hurry; in fact, I was hoping against hope that the 
the whole army would move. I, at last, concluded that I shouhi 
have to make a demonstration to satisfy my friends, with whom I 
had talked it over. 

The weather was so terriblely cold and rough along that river boh 
tom that, after a few days* experience, I felt it would be a relief tc 
get over the river, alongside of the snug camp-fires of the Rebels, 
which seemed to beckon me over, as an ignis fatuus. The Con¬ 
federates were allowed camp-fires all along their picket-lines. Wo 
were not even permitted to light a match. 

The Rappahannock, at the point patrolled by our cavalry, was 
narrow and deep, the banks on either side being abrupt and cov¬ 
ered in most places by a close undergrowth of willow. Directly oppo¬ 
site, and within speaking distance, were the Rebel pickets. Their 
outpost camp-fires were in a little grove of saplings, so close to the 
bank that, from our side, we could see their every movement at night 
by the light of their fires, and could count the number of men laying 
about on the ground. We imagined that we could hear their snores, 
so close were they. It seemed as if we were on guard over them. 

When their fires would burn low, one of the number would crawl 
from under his blanket, stir up the embers, put oh some more wood, 
and again lie down to sleep in perfect security. There was no firing 
on picket-lines at that time. 

During the daytime there would frequently be a general exchange 
of agreeable, but sometimes sharp, words between the pickets. 

On our side there was a general order prohibiting this communi¬ 
cation, but, when the officers Avere not around, we talked more 
freely with the Rebels than we would have dared with the sentry 
on the beat adjoining our own. 

It was only necessary to call “Johnny!" to get a quick “ Hello," 
or if Johnny called first it was “Hello, Yank." 

But little, if any, reliable information passes through the lines 
in this way. The pickets out on the line, as a rule, know less about 
their own army than anyone else. Of course a stranger, or even a 
soldier unknown to the officers, is not permitted on the line. 



<Jm7AIiRT PICKET ON THE RAPPAHANNOCK. 








































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































THE BOY BPY. 


473 

What I am relating is an actual experience from real life in the 
picket lines. 

These incidents resulted in bringing about some remarkable 
developments that, in the days and months and years that followed, 
produced a sadly, sweet influence on the lives, not only of myself, 
but upon that of some famous Confederate officers and the family 
of Captain Wells ; but to tell the story of the “ other side,” at this 
time, is to be left for a future occasion. This is to be a straight 
narrative of one experience. 

Picture to yourselves a stormy, snowy night. The men of the 
relief to which I had been temporarily attached, who were to be 
called, could not be found, because the snow had actually covered 
them out of sight. 

Soldiers who lay down on the ground to sleep during a sriow 
storm wrap themselves entirely with the blankets, which the 
snow soon covers. Strange as it may seem, we slept more com¬ 
fortably and warmly when thus shrouded under the snow. 

The night I had selected to cross to the enemy was of this kind. 
In the early part, I had slept sweetly under this white blanket of 
snow, and, when called up to take my position, I felt loth to stir, 
with such first thoughts, perhaps, as a criminal who is awakened 
from sound sleep on the morning of his execution. 

At that time, in addition to two heavy flannel shirts and 
drawers, we usually wore two complete suits of fatigue uniform, 
one right over the other. The boots were large, and came high. 
Over the leather we learned, in very cold weather, to draw an old 
woolen sock. If the reader has never tried this, he will be surprised 
to see how much warmth even an additional cotton sock adds when 
drawn over the outside of a boot. It is equal to three pairs inside. 

We also discovered that the placing of an old newspaper between 
blankets increased their warmth doubly without adding to the 
weight. 

It will be seen from this description, or attempt at one, that a 
Union cavalryman on picket on a winter night, on the Rappahan¬ 
nock, resembled, as he sat on his horse, something that has not yet 
been pictured in any war-book that I have ever seen! Of course, 
under all this bundle of blankets and ponchos he carried across his 
knee his carbine, or perhaps it was “slung.” 


As a general tiling, if the night was very cold, the poor picket 
allowed his heavily-loaded feet to hang out of the stirrups, because 
it assisted the circulation and kept the feet warmer than when rest¬ 
ing in the stirrup. 

Determined that I should settle the question that night, at a 
favorable opportunity I called, in a voice that I fear was somewhat 
tremulous, “Hello, Johnny!” 

Not gettinganyreply, I waited a few moments, watching intently 
every movement around the fire in the little grove. Presently 
one tall fellow, with whiskers all over his face, whom I took to be 
an officer, called gruffly to one of the sleeping Rebels, as if direct¬ 
ing his attention to the picket-line. There were a few words or 
growls in a sleepy tone, and all became quite. Fearing that they 
would all go off to sleep again, I called out loudly, “Come down to 
the river a minute.” 

At this the officer got up, stared into the darkness over his fire 
as if the voice had come from a ghost in the tree-tops. Again I 
called: “Come over a minute ; I want to give you some dry coffee.” 

This stirred up the officer, whose pleased smile 1 could see by 
the firelight. 

“Hello ! is that you, Yank ?” Then, urging the sleeper to get 
out, the two had some sharp words, which I didn’t hear. 

It was only a few moments before both strode away from the 
fire-light in the direction of the river. At the time I was so nervous 
that I thought it an hour’s delay. 

Our officer was% conveniently absent at the time, and while I 
knew that I would not be molested, except as a feint, I still felt 
that for effect I must go quietly about this, and this feeling served 
to make me act the part nervously. 

There was a flat-boat or raft tied on the other side. This little, 
square, coffin-shaped craft had been manufactured by some Georgia 
soldiers. The sides were straight up and down and the bottom flat. 
A good name for the thing is “a boy drowner”; that’s what they 
call them on the river where I learned to swim. To navigate this 
concern, a rope had been stretched over the river and anchored at 
each side, the rope sinking under the water. That rope was there 
permanently, just in such shape as I had proposed to lay a cable. 
Our officers only knew in a general way of its existence from the 


THE BOY SPY. 




fact that the little boat was drawn or ferried almost every night by 
means of it. 

When the two Rebels that I had roused from sleep had gotten 
cloke enough and began to feel along the shore ice for the boat, 
which was always kept on their side, I excited them to greater 
exertion by saying in a whisper, intended to be confidential, but 
which was heard easily over the river: “I’ve got a canteen of com¬ 
missary here I will sell or trade.” 

Whisky has its uses. It enters into almost every conspiracy in 
some shape or other; in this case it was only to be applied as a sort 
of taffy. The officer called back eagerly: “All right; we’ll make 
some kind of a dicker. 1 ” 

The boat was scarcely safe for one and wouldn’t carry double 
without kicking over. It was built on the theory that the one 
passenger would part his hair in the middle, and to get an exact 
balance, the “chaw” of tobacco could be shifted to that side of the 
jaw that required the weight. It would do well enough for a play¬ 
thing in the summer time, but to risk a bath in the middle of a 
winter night was not to be so lightly considered. 

The officer insisted on the soldier coming over. By way of per¬ 
suasion I heard him tell him that if he should get a little wet, the 
commissary that Yank had would warm him up. That settled it. 

He came over in less time than I had taken to tell about it, jumped, 
through the bushes and stood before me on the hard-frozen ground. 

Nearly all of the old soldiers of the Army of the Potomac have 
been a party to these little “exchange of courtesies” on the out¬ 
posts, and will understand better than I can explain just how the 
thing was done. For those who have not seen the reality, I would 
suggest a picture. The scene is on the Rappahannock; the back¬ 
ground shows the heights below Fredericksburg covered with snow. 
The characters in real life are the Rebel soldier and his boat. Ho 
stood by me wrapped in a dirty butternut blanket, in that style of 
drapery that only a Rebel soldier or an Apache Indian can adapt 
himself to. 

I have already described my bundled-up appearance, topped off 
with a poncho. We were meeting at that lonely spot in the middle 
of a winter night, ostensibly to trade coffee and whisky for tobacco; 
but in fact it was, with me, a meeting for the purpose of hatching 


THE BOY SPY 


m 

out a conspiracy as important in one sense, if successful, as was 
tiiat of Benedict Arnold and Major Andre's meeting. I was there 
for a purpose, with the indirect knowledge and consent of the Com- 
mader-in-Chief of the United States Armies. 

V 

I preferred very much to talk with the officer; he would have 
the authority to grant me the privileges I wanted to negotiate for, 
before I should surrender my liberty. 

The man in front of me was a middle-aged, unshaven, ugly- 
looking specimen of a Georgian or North Carolinian Tar-heel. All 
he knew was to do as his officer directed, and he was of a kind that 
would do that at any cost. Whisky was the best or quickest way 
to reach his confidence. The rebel and I “drank from the same 
canteen" on the picket-line. He did the most of the drinking, 
while I only pretended to take swigs of it. 

The officer on the other side couldn't see what we were doing; 
he became uneasy and called out: “ Don't fool 'round thar too long." 

My rebel called back, “I'm a-comin' with some good stuff." 

He went back to his boat, hauled out a lot of leaf* tobacco, and 
after the style of the Indians trading, laid it down, saying: “ It's 
all I got, but there's plenty of it." 

I was not making a tight bargain just then, and agreed to all 
his terms so readily that probably, under the influence of the com¬ 
missary, he could scarcely find words to express his good opinion of 
me, etc. 

I broached the subject uppermost in my mind by growlingat our 
hard luck in having to stand out there in the cold. His reply to 
this put me off my pins entirely : 

“Well, why don't you all go to your own home in your own 
country ? " 

I explained that we would like to do so, but being soldiers we 
had to stay here against our will. 

I then mildly suggested that we felt like going over to their side, 
that we might have such comfortable fires, etc. 

“A right smart of your men do come over." 

“What do they do with them ?" 

“Oh, they are sent away- down to the coast some place, where 
they are in no danger of getting caught by you all." 

That was one important point learned; they would send me off 




THE BOY SPY. 


47> 


South if i should go over as a deserter. I didn’t intend to he sent 
away so tar from Geno, and I decided mighty suddenly just then 
that I wouldn’t go along back with him. 

The Johnny started to return, when I asked him if he ever 
went up to the town. He had been there, but was seemingly as 
dumb and indifferent as an animal about everything but the whisky 
and coffee. 

“ I’ve got some friends up in town there that I’d like to send 
some word to. Can’t you go up there and see them for me?” 

“Why, yes, I’ll do anything I can to oblige you; but I’ll have 
to ask the Captain about that, you know.” 

Then I drew from my pocket a letter or note, sealed in an 
ordinary envelope, addressed to Captain Wells, and confidentially 
whispered as I looked around me, as if afraid some of our officers 
would see or hear me : “ I’ve a sweetheart up there, and between 
you and me I would like to send her some word explaining why I 
am here. The fact is,” I continued, as the fellow reached his hand 
and took my letter, “ I only came into this Yankee army for a chance 
to get to see her, and if I thought I wouldn’t be sent South I’d go 
over now.” 

The fellow was then so much softened by the whisky that he 
tugged at my hand to “ Come right along; come on, old fellow.” 1 
only got away from him by proposing that he see his officer about 
it first, and if they could give me any assurance that I’d not be 
sent South I’d go over the next night I was on duty. 

Again assuring him that the letter contained nothing that I 
should object to his officer seeing, he left me, ramming into his 
pocket the document containing the misleading information that 
General Burnside’s Staff-officer had suggested that I personally con¬ 
vey. I had prepared the document myself, which was in the form 
of a friendly letter to Captain Wells and family, detailing my 
experience in the Old Capitol Prison, and explaining that I had 
joined the army as the only means to get back there ; then, as if it 
were an ordinary bit of news^ I added the decoy information to the 
body of the note in these words: 

“I have heard from my brother, who you know is a telegraph 
operator at the War Department, that General Burnside has been 
ordered to cross the river again; but next time it is to be away 


A78 


THE BOY SPY, 


down the river at Hoop-pole Ferry, so that I hope to soon be with 
you all once more, etc. 

When the Rebel got back and had talked a while, and had pro¬ 
bably given the Captain a swig at the commissary 5 the Captain 
called back to me to say, “ Thank you, old fellow; much obliged to 
you, sir.” Then, in an undertone, “ Are you all alone ?” 

I signified that I w T as, when he said : “ I know those ladies very 
well, and will see them myself tomorrow.” 

What could have been better for my purpose ? It will be 
remembered there were two older sisters, Miss Sue and Miss Mamie. 
I flattered myself with the reflection that Geno was then too young 
for company—especially Rebel company, or any other kind but me. 

In this manner I was in every way as successful in accomplish¬ 
ing General Burnside’s purpose as if I had gone over personally; 
perhaps more so, as there would be no doubt in the minds of the 
Wells family that I was sincere in these statements, and they would 
indorse me strongly to the Rebel officers. If the letter had been 
intercepted it would have answered precisely the same purpose. 
The message was delivered to the Wells family, and, no doubt, the 
contemplated move of General Burnside below town was reported to 
the Confederate officers. 

While General Grant was preparing for his Wilderness cam¬ 
paign, I learned—in some way that I cannot now recollect—that 
Captain Wells was a prisoner in the Old Capitol. 

At the first opportunity I procured a pass from the Provost- 
Marshal’s Office in Washington, and, calling at the Old Capitol, 
asked for Captain Wells. I was then in uniform, so that the out¬ 
side attendants did not recognize in their visitor a former prisoner. 

In a little while the Captain was shown into the room. At sight 
of him my heart ached. The poor old man seemed to have aged 
wonderfully in the year since I had last seen him. He. looked 
at me, but his eyes were not so good, and, seeing my uniform, he 
probably supposed that I was one of the guard, and was about 
turning to an attendant to ask who had called to see him, when I 
spoke and reached for his hand. Then his face brightened up as 
he heartily shook hands, and the first words he spoke, in answer to 
some remark about our altered appearance as he looked at my uni¬ 
form, were; “ We heard you were in Stoneman’s cavalry.” 



THE BOY SPY. 


Jp9 


\ 


G-eneral Stoneman was then Chief of Cavalry, and the Southern 
people, after their own manner, usually named the troops after the 
commander. W hen I asked how he had heard from me, when I 
could not get a word from them, he looked up Avith that curious 
smile of his, as he said, significantly : “We got word from a certain 
good friend of ours telling us about it.” 

Further conversation was carried on in this guarded way, as an 
officer sat in front of us and heard every word that was exchanged. 

When I asked the Captain about his accommodations, and pro¬ 
posed sending him some fruit and eatables from the outside, he 
warmly thanked me, adding, with the same peculiar smile: “You 
know about what we get here, I suppose?” 

At this I had to laugh, so did the old Captain, the officer between 
us looking curiously from one to the other, to try and discover what 
the joke was that created such merriment. 

He told me, then, something of the dreadful experiences of the 
family, in Fredericksburg, during the bombardment and battles, 
declaring that he should take them away from there at the first 
opportunity. 

The interviews of visitors were limited to a certain number of 
minutes, and when my time was up I had to go. 

In a few days after the experience of negotiating the decoy 
over the river, the Army of the Potomac did move, and a demon¬ 
stration was made precisely as I had indicated. But the history of 
General Burnside’s famous stick-in-the-mud march has already been 
so well told that I need only to add that this was his plan. If the 
weather had not changed, or the dreadful Virginia mud had not 
prevented. General Burnside would have crossed above the town, 
and might have been successful then, and redeemed himself. 

It is now certain that General Lee would have been surprised, 
and have been compelled to fight the Army of the Potomac on 
equal terms, outside of fortifications, with General Burnside for a 
leader. General Hooker afterward did precisely the same thing that 
General Burnside is so mercilessly criticized for attempting. Hooker 
failed miserably, after he was over, and when everything was in his 
grasp. Burnside might have managed it better in Hooker’s position. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


CONSPIRACIES AMONG UNION GENERALS AND NORTHERN POLITY 
CIANS—THE DEFENSE OF THAT UNAPPRECIATED ARMY, THE 
CAVALRY—HOOKER AND DEAD CAVALRYMEN—STONEMAN’S CEL¬ 
EBRATED RAID TO RICHMOND TRUTHFULLY DESCRIBED, AND 
ITS FAILURE TO CAPTURE RICHMOND ACCOUNTED FOR—A CHAP¬ 
TER ON THE “ SECRET SERVICE ” NOT REFERRED TO IN OFFICIAL 
REPORTS OR CURRENT AVAR HISTORY. 

It is Avith considerable reluctance that I make this jump in my 
narrative from the date of Hooker’s taking command until his first 
active movement at Chancellorsville. The months of February, 
March and nearly all of April Avere spent in comparative idleness. 
The massive Army of the Potomac, with its 100,000 men, were in 
their restful winter quarters on Stafford Heights, opposite Fred¬ 
ericksburg. It is a great mistake, however, to suppose that there 
was no activity at the headquarters of that army. 

We were boiled and stirred up incessantly at headquarters by 
the little wars and inside conspiracies between our own general - 
officers and against the War Office. The secret history of some of 
these bickerings would be interesting reading, by way of foot notes 
to the articles now being contributed to the Century and other 
Avar books by some of those Avho were active participants in these 
traitorous schemes. I however do not know enough of it (except 
from personal gossip about headquarters) to permit my venturing 
upon any detailed exposition. 

Sufficient is knoAvn, however, in a general way, by the surviv¬ 
ors, Avho Avere cognizant of the affairs at the time, to bear me out 
in asserting that among other schemes there Avas a widespread, 
organized conspiracy among certain officers to attempt a coup 
d'etat, by which McClellan Avas to be made Military Dictator, in 
place of President Lincoln. 

This may be denied again and again, but the unadulterated 
facts are (and they froze so hard that Avinter that they will keep 

to the end) that there was such a conspiracy. The correspond - 

iso 



THE BOY SPY. 


Jt81 

ence on the subject with the Copperhead politicians in the North, 
who were to manage that end, is probably yet in existence. Some 
day, when the active participators are dead and gone, perhaps the 
truth may be made known. 

On the occasion of a visit to Washington during this long 
winter siege, I was questioned privately by the Covode Committee 
as to procuring some information on the subject. 

As I have stated before, I had had enough of the politician 
secret-service business, and did not take kindly to their making 
any use of me as a spy on our own headquarters. But this much 
was established: there were agents in Washington, wearing the uni- # 
form of the Union Army, who were in communication with our 
Generals in the field and politicians in the North, who personally 
sounded certain officers at a certain hotel room on the subject. 
These officers procured from this traitorous committee all the 
information they could, and promptly gave it to the Government 
officials. 

Only one more word of this : one, probably two, of the officers 
who procured this information are prominent officials in the Gov¬ 
ernment service at Washington to-day. Their character for reli¬ 
ability and truthfulness is unimpeachable. That is all I have to 
say. on this question at present. 

General Burnside was aware of the intrigues—to call it by a 
mild term—that were going on among his own officers. As a 
telegrapher I handled some correspondence with the War Depart¬ 
ment at the time which, turned onto a screen, would make some 
“handwriting on the wall” that would more than surprise the 
war-reading public. The effect would be greater than any magic- 
lantern or stereopticon exhibition of battlefields. 

Burnside wanted to arrest Hooker and his friends as public 
conspirators. I have heard him talk and act so wildly on this sub¬ 
ject, that I believe, if the provocation had been given Burnside, he 
would have shot some of his corps commanders dead. This is not 
given as an opinion ; I state that there was, and probably is to-day, 
correspondence on file in the secret archives that would confirm 
this statement. 

It was Mr. Lincoln who personally and privately, through cer¬ 
tain friends, held Burnside in check. 


482 


THE BOY SPY. 


Of course Burnside was a little “off” on this subject, but 
under the distressing conditions and treacherous surroundings of 
the time it is not surprising that he should lose his balance at 
times. General Hooker probably was obliged to swallow, in secret, 
some terrible doses of the same medicine he and others had given 
to Burnside. 

The unhappy condition of our family affairs at headquarters 
did not affect me directly. There was a general change of staff 
officers with the change of commanders. (Of course the orderlies 
followed their chiefs.) I have heretofore explained that I was a 
, “ special,” on telegraph and signal duty. My work could not be 
performed by every one, therefore I was let alone. 

In general appearance General Hooker w r as as fine a looking 
specimen of a General as one would wish to see. In this respect 
he had but slight advantage over Burnside, whose appearance was 
more of the “bishop” style of high-toned, gentlemanly dignity. 
Hooker was a soldier all over. In his ordinary talk he was short 
and abrupt. When he came out of his office for a ride, he would 
strut out to his horse, mount him in a jerky way, as if in a bad 
humor, and ride off on a gallop as if he were going into a fight 
every time. He was surrounded by a staff who were of course 
suited to the chief. 

In this way the dreary months were passed at headquarters 
until just before the preparations began for the move to Chancel- 
lorsville, when I was ordered on special secret service to go with 
General Stoneman on his raid to the rear of General Lee. 

I do not know either the exact date of Stoneman’s raid nor 
the number of horses used. I have nothing in the way of 
histories of the war for reference. Desiring to secure something 
definite in the way of a date, I looked up Appleton’s Cyclopedia, 
which is supposed to be the American standard of reference. 
Turning to “Cavalry,” I found several closely-printed pages of 
fine type devoted to the subject. With the feeling that the entire 
Cavalry history of our war would be condensed in this American 
authority, I squared myself in a comfortable position to study up 
the subject. After wading through a good deal of ancient history 
of cavalry in foreign wars—which, by the way, was commended 
to the Americans as a model system—I at last got down to our 



THE BOY SPY. 


m 


own war. Imagine my surprise, rf not indignation, to find this 
authority stating, among other things, that the “ Cavalry of the 
Army of the Potomac was not effectively organized until after 
General Grant had placed it in charge of General Sheridan/’ 

This statement, so false and misleading, the writer mildly 
qualifies by admitting that the Cavalry of the Army of the Potomac 
had been, in a manner, organized by General Hooker, etc. After 
those few lines of stinted praise devoted to the Cavalry of the 
Army of the Potomac, this historian goes on at great length to 
detail the history, organization and work of the Cavalry in the 
great West. 

The authority of General Grant is printed also for the reorgan¬ 
ization of that arm of the service in the West, which seems to 
have required it too. The article shows that General Grant gave 
General Wilson carte blanche to put this arm into effective service 
in the West. Then follows a fulsome history of the Western 
Cavalry, in which the services of General Wilson prominently 
figure. 

Such names as Pleasonton, Stoneman, Custer, Kilpatrick, 
Buford and Gregg on our side, or Stuart, Wade Hampton, Fitz- 
hugh Lee, Butler, Mosby and others, on the Rebel side, are lost 
sight of. 

I threw the standard American authority on Cavalry down in 
disgust, and after walking the floor long enough to cool off a little, 
I turned to the index of the contributors or authors. The 
explanation was found in one word—it was Wilson. General 
Wilson furnished the Cavalry article to Appleton's Cyclopedia. 

I may be treading on somebody's toes in this little prelude, but 
I feel that I shall never get on with this story until I relieve my 
mind on this question. There is in my mind no disposition to 
criticize the soldiers of the Western Cavalry force, but this fact 
should be put down, that the Cavalry of the Army of the Potomac 
did as much toward ending the cruel war as any other branch of 
the service. 

Hooker offered a reward of fifteen dollars for the body of a 
dead cavalryman. That was Hooker's bluff way of talking, but 
the facts are, nevertheless, that the cavalry at Chancellorsville did 
their duty and cut Lee v s communications, and if Hooker had done 
his share there, the Cavalry would have gathered up the trophies 
and laid them at his feet. Hooker, like some others, talked too 



m 


THE BO 7 SPt. 


much. We all remember his famous message to the President 
from Chancellorsville (which, by the way, is the only instance on 
record of the recognition of the Almighty on the part of our gen¬ 
eral officers in the conduct of the war): 

“I have got Lee in such a tight place that God Almighty can’t 
get him out. 7 ' 

Yet within two hours after Hooker had sent this he was run¬ 
ning his 130,000 men away from Lee's 60,000. 

The Cavalry of the Army of the Potomac was composed of as 
fine a body of men in 1863 as were to be found in the Army. Our 
officers were such men as Stoneman, Pleasonton, Buford, Custer, 
Kilpatrick, Gregg. Such men as the present Commandant at 
West Point, General Wesley Merritt, who was a Lieutenant in my 
Company, composed the line officers. 

In the Rebel Army, against this force, rode the best blood of 
the South in such men as Wade Hampton, J. E. B. Stuart, Fitz- 
hugh Lee, Mosby, etc. Hot only this best blood in the riders, but 
the stock they mounted and the arms they carried were of the 
very best quality. 

The Western armies had, comparatively speaking, a free field; 
they rode hundreds of miles unmolested, while we in Virginia 
dare not show a head without danger of getting it hit. I am say¬ 
ing all this here not only to relieve my mind, but to help estab¬ 
lish the fact that Appleton's Cyclopedia is way off. The Cavalry 
of the Army of the Potomac made its reputation and did much of 
its best fighting before Grant and Sheridan saw it. History will 
prove this. If the reader will ride with me on this raid to Rich¬ 
mond and go over Brandy Station battlefield, also to Aldie and up 
to Gettysburg, he will be convinced on this point. 

When I read of Sheridan's ride down the Valley, done up in 
poetry, song and painting, I think of Buford's cavalry battle and 
Hancock's ride to Gettysburg, on the first day, when he turned 
defeat into a great victory. It was then and there that the great 
anaconda of secession and rebellion had its back broken. When 
Grant and Sheridan came out of the West, the head of the serpent 
was, of course, alive and dangerous, but it was scotched. There¬ 
fore the Cavalry of the Army of the Potomac earned, by hard fight¬ 
ing against a superior force much of its glory before Sheridan 
came. 

Of course there was not much chance for the Cavalry to operate 
while we were in our winter quarters. The river served to sepa¬ 
rate the two armies as a sort of barrier or dead-line over which it 
was dangerous to venture. Yet, almost every winter night a 


TEE BOY SPY. 


4S5 


large foroe of Cavalry was detailed to ride to the upper fords to 
watch J. E. B. Stuart's raiders. 

When spring opened at last, almost everybody expected and 
desired to get out of our tiresome quarters. Therefore, when the 
order came to pack our five-days' rations, I may say that the 
cavalry arm was rejoiced. 

One of the reasons for my not being more familiar with the 
regimental brigade and corps history is that I was always on the 
staff. I only knew of the movements of such regiments as con¬ 
tained my friends, whom I visited while in camp. On the march 
.[ seldom saw any of them. We rode along in a loose, dashing 
♦vay, seemingly as the spirit moved the General, without any rank 
formation ; the orderlies bringing up the rear in the dust or mud. 

I was ordered to hang to headquarters closely, as it was 
expected that I would be of valuable aid in tapping the Rebel 
telegraph lines between Richmond and Lee; also, to do any scout¬ 
ing or piloting in the advance to Richmond, and to signal, if 
necessary, by rockets, from the rear or otherwise, as would be 
found best, over the rebels' heads, to our army signal officers in 
Lee's front. 

We moved off quietly at night, crossing the river at early 
dawn at one of the upper fords. I don't remember whether it 
was Kelly's or Beverly's; anyhow, we had to swim our horses 
partly over it. I didn't know exactly whither we were bound, 
except in a general way, thau it was to be a big raid behind Lee 
and perhaps into Richmond. 

We succeeded in a remarkable manner in getting started with¬ 
out detection. Stuart's cavalry had been led off on a stern chase 
after some of our fellows. We passed between Stuart's cavalry 
and Lee's army. This fact is important, because the Southern 
historians assert that General Lee was not surprised by Hooker's 
movement on Chanceliorsville. He was, because Stuart couldn't 
communicate with his General. 

I saw at headquarters a dispatch that had been captured by our 
advance, which indicated this so clearly that our officers were con¬ 
gratulating themselves over the fact of our safety as we rode 
along the first day. 

That our movement was a complete surprise was also clearly 
seen by the conduct of the inhabitants. We went along quietly 


TRK BOY SPY. 


486 

enough for awhile, passing houses from which perhaps we could 
only see a few ladies gazing at us from behind the screened win 
dows. At one door stood an old man leaning on a cane, looking 
about as old folks are supposed to do when a funeral procession is 
passing. 

In the “ quarters” of the contrabands, usually behind the 
houses, the sights were entirely different, however. Big fat aunties 
stood out in front of their cabins, but out of sight of the houses, 
and waved their bare arms or their aprons at us in a happy way; 
old uncles lined the fences, or stood in the fields with their hoes at 
a “ present” as we went by; pickaninnies of all sizes and shades 
ran around laughing, showing their white teeth and white eye¬ 
balls, capering as they do now a days when a Barnum circus goes 
along. 

At the first halt over the river a sort of general order was read, 
or, in most cases, talked to the different regiments by their officers, 
to the effect that “ we were in the enemy’s country on an impor¬ 
tant campaign.” It was, therefore, imperatively commanded that 
there be no straggling, no foraging, except under proper escort 
and under command of an officer. 

Each man was asked to exert himself to the utmost to make 
the movement a success. It was also explained that the move¬ 
ment not only required the greatest vigilance on the part of every 
man in the command, but it was expected also that the powers of 
endurance, both of men and horses, would be taxed to the utmost. 
We must conceal ourselves as much as possible during the day¬ 
time and march at night. 

One of the towns we reached en route was Louisa Court House. 
In Virginia, all the county seats are named court houses. Louisa 
was not much of a prize, to be sure, but it was directly in General 
Lee’s rear at Chancellorsville. 

In this quiet old place we bivouaeed for a half day or more, 
while our forces were up and down the roads, destroying railroad 
tracks. 

Somewhere in this neighborhood is the railroad running betweer 
Gordonsville and Bichmond. This track was torn up, and all the 
railroad route to Manassas Gap and Washington City from the 
South was made useless. 


TEE B07 SPY. 


487 

Most of the readers know how a railroad track is destroyed in 
war, so I shall describe it very briefly. Of course we were sup¬ 
plied with the “ tools” for drawing spikes from the ties quickly. 
A number of rails at a certain point are lifted; the cross-ties are 
then taken up and built into a sort of open-work, brick-kiln-shaped 
pile several feet high, being quite narrow at the top. On top of 
this pile of well-oil-soaked, weather-dried logs are laid the iron 
rails which have been lifted from them. These are placed so that 
the middle of the rail rests on the ties, the long, heavy ends being 
balanced over the sides. A fire is kindled in the tie pile; the 
grease in the ties, perhaps aided a little by more combustibles, soon 
makes as hot a fierce as comes from the top of a furnace. The ties 
burn up slowly, but with such a constant heat that the iron rails 
soon become red hot. While in this soft condition the overhanging 
weight of the long ends causes them to bend and twist out of shape. 
This renders the rails utterly useless for a railroad track. They 
become old scrap-iron, and must be worked over at a mill before 
they can be used again as rails. It cannot be straightened out by 
any process that will admit of its being again used in rebuilding 
the destroyed tracks. 

I saw at one point on the track where these hot rails had been 
lifted off the fire and twisted around the trunks of trees. After 
they had cooled in that shape, the only way to get the old iron 
was to cut down the tree and lift the loop over the stump. Of 
course, the rebels could repair the tracks in time, but to do this 
required several days in which new rails could be transported to 
the spot. 

One of the purposes of this raid to Richmond was to destroy 
the immense Tredegar Iron Works on the James River. This large 
establishment supplied the Confederates with nearly all their iron 
materials, such as cannon, shells, bridge material, and a thousand 
other articles necessary in war. To have effected its demolition 
would have most seriously crippled the Rebellion. 

Of course the details for this anticipated railroad destruction 
had been carefully planned before we started. All the necessary 
appliances for the work had been brought along. Each officer 
knew exactly what he was expected to do, and, as a rule, they all 
successfully completed their tasks. It was expected that I should 


THE BOY SPY. 


488 

be of service in tapping the telegraph wires, and to me was left, 
in a general way, the oversight of the telegraph business. 

The General and his Staff, to which I was attached, did not, of 
course, ride in' the extreme advance. Imagine my surprise and 
disgust, on coming up with a party of these railroad wreckers, to 
find that they had exceeded their instructions, and cut down nearly 
a mile of telegraph poles to burn with their ties. They had 
gathered the wire up and piled it in heaps on the fires. This was 
exactly what I did not want done. My purpose was to first tap 
the wires and attach my pocket instrument and have some fun out 
of it. Another reason for disappointment was, that I had discov¬ 
ered—if not patented—a safer and surer method of destroying 
telegraph lines. Of course a mile of wire is more easily trans¬ 
ported then a mile of rails. Two men can carry a half-mile coil 
of wire. A telegraph line can be rebuilt and used with the wire 
lying on trees, or even fences, in dry weather. Therefore, the 
cutting out of a mile of poles was not an effectual interruption. 
My plan was—and I call attention of future war-telegraphers to it 
—to first take some of the small magnet wire, which is so thin as 
to be almost invisible, attach this to the insulator hook, or wire at 
the top of the pole, lead the thread of wire down the pole, imbed¬ 
ding it, if possible, in some seam or crack to further conceal it, and 
at the bottom of the pole run the other point of wire into the 
ground. If this is done, be the wire even as small as a silk thread, 
and made of copper, all electric communications is effectually con¬ 
ducted off its channel. Each current, or wave, or signal, sent 
from either side of this wire will take the short cut and follow it 
to the ground, where it becomes lost. Neither side can converse 
or signal over such an obstruction, and they do not know the 
character or location of the trouble, as the wire works as usual. 
Of course each operator will wonder why the other does not respond 
to his signals, and absence is taken for granted as the reason. 

I had supplied myself with a quantity of this fine copper wire. 
Finding the point nearest Gordonsville where the wire had not 
been removed from the poles, I attached a thread of this thin wire 
to the line-wire and led it to the earth, so as to be concealed. I 
knew very well, from long experience, that the telegraph operator 
*it Gordonsville would know, from the loss of all circuit, that the 


THE BOY SPY. 


489 

wire had been destroyed at some point, and it would become his 
first duty to send a man out along the road to find out and repair 
the damage. 

We did not want Gordonsville to know that we, the Yankee 
raiders, were the destroyers. The piece of wire which I attached 
to the ground made the circuit short but complete, so that the 
wire worked as usual up to that concealed point, but no further. 
When the linemen should come out to repair breaks he would find 
the wire broken. This he would repair speedily and return to 
Gordonsville without discovering the little ground-trap that I had 
set. In time it would be discovered, by a system of tedious and 
expensive tests from pole to pole, but this would probably consume 
several days. A broken or destroyed gap of wire could be at once 
discovered and rebuilt in a few hours. 

On the same evening, at a point some distance below this de¬ 
stroyed gap of railroad and telegraph wire, I drew the wire down 
from a convenient pole in a secluded way-side grove. 

It was about sundown when I, with a few helpers, was dan¬ 
cing around a pole when the General and Staff road by. See¬ 
ing us engaged in this apparently mysterious business, their 
curiosity was of course, aroused ; we were questioned, the General 
and his entire Staff stopping to watch the result of tapping the 
rebel wires. 

Unfortunately, the premature cutting of the wires that morning 
had interfered with my plans for working quietly and secretly in 
this direction. When I got my little relay attached to the wire, 
you may imagine with what nervousness I took hold of the adjust¬ 
ment spring to feel for a signal from a distant rebel operator, 
probably in Richmond. 

At first there were no signs of life on the wire. It was while my 
face was turned away from the instrument, talking to General 
Stoneman of the mistake of the men in cutting the wire, that I 
heard a faint click on the magnet. I turned from the General 
abruptly, bent my ear to the little ticker, and listened with every 
nerve and sense strained. 

A second signal was soon made, which was lost to my ear by 
some loud talking among the Staff. 1 nervously turned to them 
and ordered General Stoneman and his Staff to “ keep still." 



490 


THE BOY SPY. 


That's a fact. The General laughed quietly, but didn't, dare to 
open his mouth again. 

I made the signal for interrogation, or question, which all opera¬ 
tors understand to mean, “I did not hear you," or “What did 
you say The answer came back “Sign," which means give 
your signature or your office. I judged at once that, whoever it 
was, he'd got wind of the raid and was suspicious. I merely said, 
as any operator was likely to do after a wire has been interrupted, 
“ Is this wire 0. K. now?" The answer came back from some 
point that I dare not attempt to locate by a question: “The wire 
has been down all day." 

I was compelled to break off the talk by wire to gratify the 
curiosity of the General and Staff by an explanation. I told them 
I had “got" somebody, but did not know who, and was afraid to 
give myself away by asking any questions. The General suggested, 
“ You had better say that the Yankees cut the wires, and that they 
have been driven back home again." 

As suggested by the General, I telegraphed : “ The wire was . 

cut by those Yankees on horseback, but it's fixed now." 

“Is that so ? Who is it ?" were the questions fired at me. 

“ I'm a repairman sent out to fix this wire. The Yankees were 
chased back by J. E. B. Stuart to-day." 

“Good enough. I thought Jeb wouldn't allow that," were 
some of the expressions which were used in reply. 

I conveyed these messages to the General and Staff, to their great 
delight and amusement. The General was anxious to find out 
whom we had on the wire. They all saw from the automatic tick¬ 
ing of the little machine, when my hands were off it, that it was 
something at a distance making the signals. To gratify the Gen¬ 
eral, and get around the question, I asked: “ Is it ‘ Rd?' " which is 
the signal I had myself heard used, when I was at Beauregard's 
headquarters, from the Richmond office. 

“ No ; it's Supt.'s Office." That was enough. It was the Rail¬ 
road General Superintendent's Office. I had reason to think they 
had been led off by this talk, and hoped that they would notify 
the Richmond officials that the communication by wire had been 
restored, and that the Yankees had been driven off. In reality, 
we had more effectually destroyed their communication. Instead 




THE BOY SPY. 491 

of being driven off, these Yankees proposed moving south at once 
toward Richmond. 

The General and Staff rode off, evidently well satisfied with the 
little experiment. I was directed to lose no time in following. I 
“ fixed " this wire to the ground, as I had the other side of the 
gap, and, after reporting to the Superintendent's Office that every¬ 
thing was 0. K., left. 

I have no doubt that both the Superintendent's Office and Gor- 
donsville “called" each other quite a long time that evening, and 
perhaps each supposed the other had closed his office for the night 
and gone home. Each one of the wires seemed to be all right; in 
reality it was, as far as these two taps to the ground. 

To make a surer tap, or to more effectually blind the regular 
telegraph repair force, I carried with me some leather thongs 
rolled into a shape resembling an ordinary piece of line wire. 
These bits of leather “wires" were inserted in the telegraph line 
and connected by the twisted joint, precisely in the same manned 
as the real wire. The effect is to break the continuity of the wire, 
or metallic circuit. A piece of this sort of leather an inch in length, 
inserted into the wire, as completely destroys the use of 100 miles 
of wire as if 50 miles of it had been torn down. Of course, it will 
be understood that the leather is a non-conductor of electricity. 
Not a wave of the current will get over it. To prevent detection, 
the leather, or tarred twine, should be an exact imitation of the 
real wire. In time it will be detected, of course, but an ordinary 
repairman on the lookout for a break will inspect the wire for days 
without discovering the hidden flaw. 

We traveled nearly all of that night, reaching, I think, nearly 
to the James River the next morning. We did not all go in a body 
or bunch, of course. Every road was occupied by detachments of 
the raiders. We went as we pleased, giving to the people of the 
interior of Virginia a sight of the Federal uniform for the first and 
only time. 

A great many of these F. F. V.'s, whom we called upon at 
their mansions, discovered, to their chagrin, that the despised 
“Yankee on a horse " was a good soldier and a gentleman. Such 
men as Custer, Kilpatrick, Buford and Gregg were there. 

It would fill a good-sized pamphlet to tell all that I saw on this 


THE BOY ?r. 


$2 

raid, so I shall condense as much as possible. We had destroyed 
all the railroads in our rear, and were ready to move on the direct 
line between Fredericksburg and Richmond. 

Several days after we were out, the headquarters were resting 
or bivouacking at a large, old-fashioned tavern. I don't remem¬ 
ber the name of the place, but it may be briefly described as one 
of those country stopping-places that are so frequent on roads 
traveled by stages and freight wagons. On the front of the house, 
along its entire length, was the wide porch, containing the usual 
row of benches and clusters of big hickory chairs. From this 
porch, doors opened into a broad hall running through the middle 
of the house, also into the office, or bar-room, at the end of the 
porch. Around the corner were the benches, or sinks, containing 
the basins, or bowls, for washing, while on the wall were hung a 
row of towels on rollers. 

Seated about this porch, promiscuously, were General Stone- 
man and Staff. They had sampled some of the whisky in the bar, 
and ordered warm meals tor themselves. The attaches and orderlies 
were scattered around, as were the bodyguard. 

A little distance from the house was a stream of water, or 
“ crick," which we learned emptied into the James River, near by. 

We were then abote or west of Richmond, on the James River. 
We were all feeling pretty tired, and, to put it mildly, we rested un¬ 
easily at the old house. The landlord was like every other landlord 
at such a place—pot-bellied, red-nosed, good-natured, and pompous. 

I had expected, when we rode off so briskly, that I should ride 
into Fredericksburg from the rear. I felt on that side of the river, 
which had separated us all winter, I was sure of seeing Geno at 
last. The great obstruction of the river, which had been in sight 
all winter, was now out of mind for the time being. Having heard 
of the occupation of the town by our forces, it occurred to me that 
I might make a little break on my own hook, and ride up to 
Fredericksburg. 

I said something about it to one of the Staff-officers, who replied 
that Pd better hold on and go along with the rest of them. Get¬ 
ting impatient at this point, where it seemed as if we were hiding 
(ourselves and horses) in the woods, I suggested going out to our 
advance, in hopes of finding a telegraph wire to tap for news. 













TAPPING THE TELEGRAPH WIRE. — “ ARE THE TASTES IN 

i’RKBKRICKSBURG t ” 




























































• r 
























\- * 


*'* .*> •. 


























THE BOY SPY. 


493 

This was readily agreed to. I was furnished a couple of men 
and directed to the nearest “main road.” This, as I now recall 
it, was a road running west from Richmond toward the Valley. 
My impression—gathered from the colored people—was, that the 
road led to Lexington or Staunton. Anyway, I followed it out 
some way until we found an old-fashioned telegraph line. I mean 
by this, one of the early kind built along the highways. 

There seemed to be but little travel along that route just then, 
so we had a good chance to get at the wire without being seen. 
One of the men held our horses and kept guard while another 
climbed or reached up to the wire from a fence. 

I felt sure, from its dilapitated appearance, that it was some 
abandoned old wire. It was rusted so deeply that it snapped 
asunder at the first touch of the nippers. While hastily drawing 
it together again 1 felt the shock of a live current in the hand 
which held the wire. This satisfied me that we would get some¬ 
thing for our trouble. 

After I had inserted my instrument into the circuit, the deli¬ 
cate little armature was at once strongly attracted to the magnet. 
Adjusting my spring, I discovered, to my surprise, that our cutting 
of the wire had interrupted some dispatches. That they were 
important, I gathered from the impatient manner of the operator, 
demanding to know why he should be stopped so long in such an 
important dispatch. I let the two operators fight it out among 
themselves for a few moments on that line, each accusing the 
other of being responsible for the delay. When they got started 
again, I quietly listened to the ticks of the sending operator. The 
first words seemed to be giving an account of a battle, in which 
certain friends had been injured. 

Not being able to restrain my curiosity, and knowing, too, 
that we occupied dangerous ground on that highway, I “broke 
in,” at the first chance, to say: 

“ Are the Yanks in Fredericksburg?” 

“Not much,” was the answer which came to my ears and made 
my heart sink. 

“Why, I heard they were there.” 

“They were there, but Uncle Bob scattered them all back, and 
they are running on Washington. Who are you ?” 


m 


THE BOY SPY. 


“Oh, Pm a strange operator from New Orleans. I stepped in 
at; this office to get the news, and found the operator out.” 

“Well, the news is, the Yanks are all gone to h-again, and 

General Lee is marching on Washington.” 

I don’t remember whether I thanked the Richmond man or 
not; it’s likely not, as I was so much worked up that I didn't 
know what I was doing. I hastily told my companions what I 
had heard. 

They indignantly denied the truth of the story, and insisted 
that the Rebel operator was fooling me. On being taunted with 
this insinuation, I returned to the key to ask further questions. 

In the meantime the ticking kept up, and when I again directed 
my ear to it, I heard that which convinced me of the truthfulness 
of the report. A report, or long dispatch, was being sent, explana¬ 
tory of Stonewall Jackson’s being wounded, etc. Without again 
questioning the operator, I learned beyond a doubt, in a convinc¬ 
ing way, that there had been a battle, and that the Rebels claimed 
a victory. 

That was enough for that day. We didn’t stop to fool any 
longer with that wire, but left it open on the ground, took to our 
horses and galloped back to the big house. The General and Staff 
were in the dining-room. I gave my information breathlessly to 
one of the Staff, who communicated it to the General. At once 
officers were ordered to go in certain directions, to confirm, if 
possible, this report. In a very little while my report was so far 
confirmed by other scouts that the mass of the force then scattered 
over the country, was ordered to move back rapidly under cover of 
the coming night. 

We at headquarters lay around the house until dark, the 
General and officers assuming an air of cheerfulness and indiffer¬ 
ence they did not feel. 

In order to deceive the landlord and any Rebel spies that might 
be hanging around about us, an order was openly issued for a large 
detachment to move forward, or in the advance to Richmond. 
The officer in command was, I think, Custer. He understood his 
business, and quietly let it be known, through his men and the 
colored people about, that they were all going ahead. As a 
matter of fact, his orders were to move cautiously in that direction 


THE BOY SPY. 


495 ' 


and to conceal his force in the woods. At dark he was to retrace 
his steps and follow us, becoming our rear-guard on the retreat. 

We were in a tight p^ace, a mighty tight place, being miles 
from our own base, not only with a victorious army between us, 
but J. E. B. Stuart had got loose, and now had the leisure to 
follow us up. We must recross the Rapidan and Rappahannock 
at certain fords. I can not go into the details of this great move¬ 
ment. Anyone who reads must see that the problem of extricating 
this large body of cavalry was a most difficult military feat. Yet 
the movement was made completely and successfully by the skill¬ 
ful handling of the troops by General Stoneman and his efficient 
aides—Custer, Kilpatrick, Buford and Gregg. 

At the time I knew General Stoneman he was a little past mid¬ 
dle age. I think his short beard and mustache were tinged with 
gray. In features he somewhat resembled Sedgwick. He was 
not, therefore, a handsome man. In fact, to most persons; Gen¬ 
eral Stoneman had rather an austere, dignified bearing that was 
somewhat repellant. He was cross—awfully cross about headquar¬ 
ters. The boys used to call him “ Dyspepsia,” which I think 
rather an appropriate title. As a rule, the pet names given the 
Generals were suitable. 

Some of those who had probably run against him when his 
hardtack and bacon did not sit well on his stomach, were fond of 
intimating that he had conspired to beat Pleasanton and his friends 
out of their commands. I don't know how this was, but it is cer¬ 
tain Pleasanton was manoeuvred out of it for the time being. 
Pleasanton recently told me this entire history. There were many 
‘‘ conspiracies '' going on in Virginia about that time. Stone- 
man's loyalty was even questioned by some of our extra patriots 
from New England; probably because he was connected by mar¬ 
riage with an influential Southern family residing in Baltimore. 

I reckon he was one of the McClellan-Franklin-Fitz-John- 
Porter-Smith-and-Hooker clique. One little incident on the 
march will serve to show his notion of the proper conduct of the 
war. 

We all foraged a little, despite the general order prohibiting it. 
Asa matter of fact, it was necessary that we should do so to pro¬ 
cure feed fottour jaded horses. While on these expeditions after 


496 


THE BOY SPY. 


forage for horses, etc., the men took the opportunity to buy from 
the colored people. 

We had a great supply of imitation Confederate money along. 
Indeed, the boys generally found out that any piece of paper that 
looked at all like a dollar bill would go among the ignorant con¬ 
trabands. Paper money was new to them, and it was all alike, 
good, whether the label off a pill-box or a genuine greenback. In 
this way we got around the order against foraging. We also ten¬ 
dered to the white people their own Confederate money. If they 
got mad and demanded gold and silver, the boys were apt to get 
mad, too, and help themselves. One day a lot of us were clearing 
out a smoke-house in the rear of a big mansion. A certain officer 
—now a Brigadier-General in the Regular Cavalry Service—was in 
command of the detachment. We had tried to buy, but they 
wouldn’t sell, so the boys helped themselves. 

In that part of the country, the farmers, being so far distant 
from the towns, kept a large supply of provisions on hand. In 
addition to hams and shoulders, etc., there was a barrel of molasses 
inside. Every fellow there filled his canteen and everything he 
had with the long-drawn sweetness. It was this slow-running 
molasses that got us into trouble, by keeping the boys there too 
long, waiting their turn at the spiggot. While we were leaving, 
Stoneman and Staff rode by the house. Seeing us coming away 
loaded down with hams, etc., he halted, asked for the officer, who 
rode up and saluted. 

“ What are you doing there? ” yelled the General. 

“The men were foraging.” The officer only got this word out 
when Stoneman stopped him with an oath— 

“Foraging h-! You’re stealing; you’re leading a band of 

robbers.” Turning and putting spurs to his horse, he dashed down 
the road, leaving the discomfited officer standing at the head of 
his enlisted men, who had beard the unmerited rebuke. That 
officer was Wesley Merritt, now General. I suppose General 
Stoneman was afterward informed that we had tried to buy, etc. 

On a long march of this kind, it is the horses that first give out. 
Asa cavalryman, -I believe I speak for the whole of that arm of the 
service in saying, that we were always willing to do without our¬ 
selves, but the poor norse must be provided for. 


THE HOT SPY . 


497 


A cavalryman may be starved and tired almost to exhaustion, 
but he will walk miles, in all sorts of weather, doing without sleep 
or rest, to carry back an armful of hay or fodder for his horse. 
It's one of the dreadful things to be compelled to ride, day and 
night, a tired, hungry, but ever-faithful horse. 

The men become so much attached to their horses that they 
will steal, and risk their lives recklessly, to get them a feed. In 
the Regular Service, the men were discouraged from forming any 
of these horse attachments. It was found that, when once a 
soldier made a pet of his horse, he was apt to be too careful of 
him. 

Mr. Lincoln’s jocular remark, that horses had become more 
valuable than their riders, because the horses were getting scarce, 
contains a great deal of truth. 

More consideration was given to the horses than to the men. As 
an illustration of the point, the first night of this return march I 
was approached by an officer, who was hunting volunteers to ride 
in the advance to the river, to get help at the crossings. I 
explained that I had been out in the advance every hour and was 
played out, and was willing, but afraid I could not stand it. The 
only consolation I got from the officer was, “ Can your horse stand 
it? We will risk you.” 

The officer explained further that he had been sent after me, 
because I was understood to be familiar with the country. I was 
not familiar with that part of the country, but I agreed to join 
this advance. Orders were given to be prepared to move quietly 
when called upon, and we all layed down for a little sleep. 

In all the pictures of the war published, I have failed to find 
what I think would be one of the most striking—a squadron of 
cavalrymen, sleeping on their arms under their horses’ noses, 
The horses, saddled, are all in line; the men, all heavily armed, 
are lying right in front sleeping, with the bridle-rein loosely 
fastened to their left hand. I have slept soundly, and sweetly, in 
a line like this. The horse will sleep and rest also. There is no 
fear of the horse treading on his sleeping rider. He seems 
instinctively to understand that they are both occupying dangerous 
ground and must stick together. 

It was while resting in this position, after the interview with 



THE BOY SPY. 


m 

the officer, that I formed a plan to go alone in advance of this 
advance to our army. At the first opportunity, I suggested to this 
officer that I should go alone and see the lay of the land. I pre¬ 
ferred this to being one of a squad of mounted men to ride along to 
hunt the Rebel sharpshooters. 

If there is anything in war that is embarrassing, it is to be on 
a cavalry lftie with orders to draw the enemy’s fire. 

On Stoneman’s raid, and after, the force generally was fought 
dismounted; that is, No. 4 holds the horses of Nos. 1, 2 and 3, who 
advance as an infantry skirmish-line. They are armed with Spen¬ 
cer rifles, and go along gingerly over a big field, at the other end 
of which is a wood, to ascertain if the Rebels are in that wood. 
The poor skirmishers know damn well the Rebs are there, but their 
orders are to go down in this way, and find out by getting shot at. 

Having had a taste of this sort of advance-guard service, 
wherein I had attracted too much Rebel fire, I was anxious to be 
excused. My plan was to go alone on my horse as a Scout or Spy. 
I should not carry any arms to be seen, and would dress as a Rebel 
or country farmer-boy. I thought that, in this guise, I could ride 
freely over the roads and get into our lines. The scheme seemed 
to please our officer immensely, and he reported the matter to 
General Stoneman’s Chief of Staff. I was ordered to report to the 
Chief, and again unfolded my plan. He suggested, among other 
things, that I should, if I met any questioners, endeavor to mis¬ 
lead them as to the number and, especially, the route of our cav- 
alry. 

A disguise was obtained; it was a dirty old jacket, borrowed 
from a contraband cook. Several persons interested themselves in 
my make up; one got me a straw hat, another a pair of trousers, 
etc. 

I left all my arms except a pistol, and, when ready to go, I par¬ 
alyzed them by demanding a bunch of signal rockets. I explained 
that I should only use them in case of extreme danger; that the 
appearance of a certain rocket at night would indicate that that 
neighborhood was to be avoided. In carrying these rockets, and 
exploding them, I knew that I ran great personal risk, but some¬ 
how I felt that, alone, I would be able to get through. I was only 
nervous and doubtful of myself when working in company. 


I HE BOY SPY. 


4-99 

The General, or at least his Staff, was most solicitious that I 
should deceive or mislead the people as to their real force and pur¬ 
pose. We only anticipated serious trouble at the fords on the 
Rapidan, and possibly the Rappahannock. 

The General had heard, through the Captain, of some sick and 
wounded Rebel soldiers who were returning from Chancellorsville 
to the interior, that Hooker had been defeated. He had also 
ascertained that the report I had brought about their marching on 
Washington City was exaggerated. We expected, naturally, that 
some steps would be taken by our army to help us out. We also 
expected that Stuart would endeavor to head us off and capture 
the entire force. 

This was about the condition of things when I started out on 
the road alone towards the Rappahannock. For mile after mile I 
met nothing. At the few scattered houses I would dash up and 
breathlessly ask for information about the Yankees. At the col¬ 
ored quarters I scattered the news that the Yankees had gone 
back into the Valley. 

On this return march, Stoneman did not once show a horse on 
a road during the daytime. This fact probably accounts for his 
success. During every day the men were all concealed in suitable 
places. Skirmishers, of course, kept guard, and, at a moment's 
warning, the whole cavalry force would have been up in arms as 
infantry behind breastworks to repel an attack. The marching 
was all done at night. Men sleep pretty well on horseback when 
they are as tired out as were Stoneman's raiders. A column of 
horses will follow each other without the use of any bridle over 
the most devious roads. 

One of the funny things about the raid was, that nearly half of 
the caverlymen were bareheaded when they got back. This re¬ 
sulted from sleeping in the saddle on these night marches. The 
narrow roads we were compelled to take were overhung with the 
branches of trees ; these stripped the hats off the sleeping beauties. 
Very often, too, the rider in front would grasp a switch, or limb, 
and hold on till he was safely passed; then, without a thought of 
the sleepy rider in his rear, he would let go, and the switch, fly¬ 
ing back, would strike the man in the face. This sort of thing 
wakened up a good many sleepers and made some disturbances in 


500 


THE BOY SET! 


the ranks. It had the effect, also, of making the faces of those who 
caught th?e switch look decidedly as if they had come out of a 
free fight, especially if they were hatless. 

My ride along during that day was without special inci¬ 
dent. I was more than surprised to find the path clear of Rebel 
soldiers. I did all that was expected of me as a Scout, in cir¬ 
culating freely the false information that our force had gone the 
other way. 

With a great deal of trepidation I approached the crossing of 
the Rapidan. I knew that, if there was a force of Rebels any place 
in our path, they would be there. I inquired particularly of every¬ 
one I would meet if there were any Yankees on the road. I knew 
very well that, in asking this question, I’d find out whether there 
were Rebels around. There were no Yankees there, but a few of the 
Rebels had been seen over the river in the morning. Here was 
my dilemma. The crossing was clear now, but how long it would 
remain so was uncertain. 

I was too far from our men to make any signal to them that 
the road w r as clear. I didn’t like to venture over the river alone, 
where those Rebels had been seen. The important thing was to 
report that ford clear. I staked my horse in an adjoining grove, 
determined to conceal myself until night. 

As the early evening wore on and no enemy showed themselves, 
I became impatient at lying idle, and boldly determined to ride 
back to our force before dark. I knew very well that, once w T e were 
safely over that river at this crossing, with its steep precipitous 
banks, with our men in force, we had a clear field for a run, or a 
fight with J. E. B. Stuart to the Rappahannock. 

Therefore I rode back at a gallop over all the long road. Just 
after dark I met the advance of our force,— the same I had been 
asked to volunteer with. 

Hastily informing the officer in command of my observations 
at the ferry, that the crossing was not occupied, etc., he reported 
to the General. 

In a little while there came dashing up the road the head of 
our column. Nobody stopped to thank me for the good news that 
we could get over the river, but all were intent on getting there at 
once. In a word, the entire force got over all right, and, in due 


THE BOY SPY. 


501 


time, we crossed the Rappahannock, and were once more safely 
within our own lines. 

I do not know the figures for this raid. I have drawn my 
recollections of it to an abrupt termination. My impression is, 
that we lost nothing of material importance. We captured a good 
many prisoners, probably more than we lost. My notion is that 
the cavalry can boast that we brought back the force intact. 

One great good was accomplished by the raid—the Rebels were 
again taught to show more respect to a Yankee on horseback. It 
was Hooker who failed, not his cavalry. 

The truth should not be overlooked, that the partial success of 
the expedition was not due to General Hooker, nor even to his 
Lieutenant, General Stoneman. The one man to whom more 
credit is probably clue than any other was General Alexander, the 
Chief of Staff of the Cavalry Corps, who served both with Stone- 
man and Pleasonton. It was he who planned and organized this 
great raid; it was his object and aim to go to Richmond, and that 
we did not go in while at the back gates of the city is to be charged 
solely to Stoneman or Hooker. 

This is not an opinion merely. I rode close by General Alex¬ 
ander one day, and heard him with my own big ears urge, yes 
plead with Stoneman to go on into Richmond anyhow'. I heard 

Stoneman’s voice utter the words: “ I know d-well we can do 

it, but my orders are not to go to Richmond. ” 

General Alexander was a large man, with a full beard, who 
talked in a slow, deliberate voice, but always in a kindly manner. 
He became somewhat ruffled at Stoneman's declining to act upon 
his suggestion, and I recall very distinctly how this ordinarily 
quiet man became as much interested in his subject as a Methodist 
preacher or politician in an argument, on horseback. 

Both were so intent upon the question that neither took any 
notice of the little orderly in.a dirty uniform who was riding near 
them. 

My impression then was that Stonemen was too much of a regu¬ 
lar of the old school to disobey an order, even if he knew it would 
result in great good to his cause. 

Whether there was such an order from headquarters can pre* 
haps be established from the records— 


502 


THE BOY SPY, 


That one coulcl have gone into Richmond was freely admitted 
by the general officer in command. 

We returned to our old camps at Fredericksburg again. In this 
way I hovered about that ill-fated Fredericksburg during all that 
winter, and until the movement to Gettysburg, without once hav¬ 
ing an opportunity to get into the town, though our troops had 
been there. It was my luck to have been absent at the time. For 
some unfathomable reason, the fates were against me every time. 

I shall never do this subject justice until I write a novel, giving 
the entire story. 

Fredericksburg during all these days presented, from our side, a 
gloomy, deserted appearance. There were always a few Confed¬ 
erate sentries on duty, which we could see on the streets. At the 
river crossing, or ferry, an occasional flag-of-truce boat would be 
rowed over, but on these occasions the General Staff-officers con¬ 
ducted the courtesies. Men and orderlies were invariably placed 
to prevent any but the two officers interested from getting a word 
with the Confederates. 

Right here I will remark that Fve witnessed innumerable flag-of- 
truce exchanges, but I do not recall a single instance in which a 
bottle was not passed around as a preliminary to the business 
in hand. I presume the custom originated from the Indians 
smoking the pipe of peace. 

One funny remark on an occasion of this sort remains in my 
memory. An enlisted man near me, seeing a Rebel taking a long 
pull at the flask of Union commissary, which our officer presented 

with a supercilious bow, said: “Well, Pm - if this is not 

getting to be too much of a civil war.” He probably felt disgusted 
because he did not have an opportunity at the flask. 

One day I was startled by the sounds of artillery, and an 
accompaniment, which, to me, resembled more than anything I can 
compare it with, a whole lot of carpenters tearing down a frame 
house. One would have thought there was a man with a hatchet, 
pounding sharply on every board, as if they were having a contest 
among themselves to see who could hit the fastest. 

I rode hurriedly down to the river, below town, to see what it 
was all about. In those days, I never stopped to ask anybody's 
advice or consent, but followed my own impulses and inclinations. 


the nor si. 


SOS 


1 passed some General officers and Staff on a liill-side near the 
batteries that were firing, who had their glasses pointed in the 
direction of the hammering. 

When I got to the river, as close as my horse could go without 
jumping down the steep bank, I saw, to my surprise, that from all 
along the rifle-pits that lined the top of the bank on the Rebel side 
was a line of white smoke—indeed, the smoke almost concealed 
the rifle-pits. 

It was from behind this bank of foggy smoke that all the 
hammering noises came. It was caused by the sounds of hundreds 
and hundreds of rifle-shots “at will/'' but in such rapid succession 
that it resembled, as I have said, innumerable hammers on a frame 
house. 

My horse could not get me close enough to see down to the 
edge of the water on our side, and I was about to dismount and 
get closer, when I saw coming up the steep road, that had been cut 
in the bank, a procession that took the blood out of my heart. 
There were two men dragging (not carrying) a dead soldier, while 
a closer glance showed all along the side of that steep bank dozens 
of others, either dead or dying 

It was the Engineer Corps of the Army of the Potomac that 
were down there behind that bank trying to lay a pontoon bridge 
over the Rappahannock. 

The artillery “support” had no more effect in quieting that 
incessant hammering than if their shots had been fired into the 
air. 

I stood there for a while, absolutely paralyzed, at a distance 
not much greater than the width of a street, watching those Rebels 
bob up all along that rifle-pit, puff out the white smoke, and their 
heads go down behind the long line of yellow clay out of sight, all 
along the line. 

I have often since wondered that one of those fellows did not 
pick me off my horse, as I sat there an absurdly-conspicuous mark. 

If they had not been so busy watching those who were trying 
to lay that pontoon, they would undoubtedly have dropped me. 
My position on the horse would naturally be taken for that of an 
officer. I assert here that more desperate or more heroic service 
has never been performed than by those of our Engineer Corps in 


THE BOY SPY. 


504 

their laying of pontoons in the face of the enemy’s fire from rifle- 
pits. 

It seemed to me, on a closer inspection of the work that day, 
that they carried out a dead man for every plank they laid on the 
pontoons. When it is remembered that these men necessarily 
work en masse , and that almost every shot from an enemy must 
hit something, it will be seen how much exposed to deadly fire the 
quiet Engineer Corps become. In the charges on rifle-pits or forts, 
or on an enemy’s line, there is always something of the excitement 
of a rush or hurrah that impels men forward with loaded guns and 
pointed bayonets in their hands; but, in laying pontoons over a 
river in the face of the enemy, a courage and nerve are required 
that, to my notion, is far beyond the ordinary. 

I often wonder that some of the accomplished Engineer officers 
do not give this matter their attention in the histories of the war 
that every other branch of the service is showering upon the land. 

These men, supported by the artillery and a few infantry, 
succeeded at last in getting so many boats launched that the 
Rebels concluded it was time to quit bothering them any longer, 
when, all at once, every Rebel popped from behind his rifle-pits, 
took to his heels and ran for dear life across the plain toward the 
hills. Of course, our artillery opened upon them at a lively rate. 
In spite of the fact that the dead and wounded were thick around 
me, I yelled with as much fun and delight as I have since at base¬ 
ball games to see a man make a home-run. 

Not a single Johnny dropped, though they threw their guns 
away to lighten them in the race for the home-run. 

This occurred some distance below Fredericksburg, and as 
there did not seem to me to be any intended movement of troops 
over the pontoons, which had been laid at such a terrible sacrifice 
of life, I rode off: to the upper fords near the Lacey House, expect¬ 
ing to get over there. I was told, on reaching headquarters, that 
this was simply a “ diversion,” to detain, or ascertain if the enemy 
were still in our front. 

Great Scott! what a disappointment to me. What a terrible 
thing is war, that will permit, as a simple diversion, the murder¬ 
ing in cold blood of hundreds of men without intending to profit 
by their work at all. 


TEE BOY SPY. 


505 


The services of a single reliable Spy, or Scout, would have 
accomplished more than all of this diversion. That evening the 
Staff moved off and I went along. I did not know then where we 
were going. I supposed, as did everyone else, that it was to be 
another battle somewhere near Fredericksburg. It never occurred 
to my mind then, that, in riding away from the Lacey House that 
June evening, I should never see it again. 

I do not suppose a dozen persons outside of Gereral Lee's staff, 
imagined we were going to ride home to Pennsylvania—to 
Gettysburg. That’s where we went. And, before leaving Freder¬ 
icksburg, I wanted to say a few words of farewell to Geno. 

There are one or two old, old songs, which have always 
remained such particular favorites with me that my friends have 
learned to expect me to call for them, in season or out of season. 

I mention them now for the benefit of the sons and daughters 
of veterans, and the other friends, young and old, who have fol¬ 
lowed the “ boy” in his love-making under the great difficulties 
that a war develops. 

They are beautiful songs besides and the words and melody 
more clearly define the romance then my pen could describe. 

I have already detailed the experiences with Geno, who so 
gracefully handled a guitar in her beautifully-formed bare arms, as 
she skillfully played an accompaniment to “ Juanita.” It was that 
old, old song and “them” eyes that put me in Old Capitol Prison. 

I would advise any of the young lady readers, with black 
hair and pretty eyes, to get a guitar and practice “ Juanita” on 
the boys. It will bring them down every time. 

Another old favorite is “ Evangeline,” which so fully expresses 
my sentiments on the past. 

Surely, there never was a sweeter and more appropriate love 
song than my “Lost Evangeline.” While the song of separation 
is the sweetly familiar “In the Gloaming.” 

Another beautiful air and words is entitled “Someday”— 
strikingly expressive of future hopes. This I heard sung first in 
the parlor of a hotel in the far, far West, when I was traveling in 
California, where it had the effect of making me homesick. 

Since the close of the war, I have wandered all over the land, 
like Gabriel in search of his Evangeline. I was shipwrecked on 


506 


THE BOT SPY. 


the Pacific Ocean at the mouth of the Columbia River, in the 
extreme Northwest. I sailed up the Columbia River with some 
such feelings as an explorer must experience on discovering a new 
continent. I visited the eternally snow-capped Mount Hood, rode 
around Puget Sound to British Columbia, went over the Cascades 
and The Dalles, in Oregon, to the western slope of the Rocky 
Mountains in Montana, thence over miles of wild mountain roads 
in Oregon and California on stage coaches, where Indians and 
stage-robbers thrive. I have lived in San Francisco, spent part 
of a winter in Los Angeles, lived among the Mormans in Utah for 
six months; in truth, I have been everywhere, but I have not yet 
found a trace of the long-lost Geno. While I have not exactly 
been searching for Geno on these travels, I have never given up 
the hope of some day seeing her, and as long as I live I never shall. 

I don't know how it may be with Geno; it is likely she has a 
good husband—better than I would have been—and that she is 
devoted to him and her family; but, in my secret heart, I hope the 
old saying will prove true, that a woman never forgets her first 
love, and that some day, in some unseen manner, Geno may read 
this and see that I have not forgotten her. This has been to my 
life only a sweet memory, which I shall Gherish fondly as such to 
to the end. “ Her bright smile haunts me still." 

“Dear as remembered kisses after death, 

And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned 
On lips that are for others; deep as love, 

Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; 

Oh, death in life! the days that are no more.” 

After leaving Falmouth, the headquarters of Cavalry corps 
were quartered in an old house somewhere convenient to the rail¬ 
road and telegraph wires that run into Alexandria. It was prob ¬ 
ably close by the Sixth Corps' position, as General Sedgwick occu¬ 
pied the same house with his Staff, and as their horses were tied 
about the fences. 

One little incident will serve to locate me. General Pleason- 
ton was then the Chief of Cavalry, to whose General Staff I was 
afterward attached. He also occupied rooms in this same build¬ 
ing. Late one night a message was brought into me to deliver to 


THE BOY SPY. 


507 


the General. The building we were in had been apparently deserted 
by the family. I was told by some of the officers that I’d find 
General Pleasonton in his room up stairs. I went tramping up 
the uncarpeted steps, with my big cavalry boots and spurs rattling 
and resounding through the great empty hall in the “weesma’ 
hours,” so that I awakened Colonel Blake, who was wrapped up in 
his blanket trying to sleep on the hall floor. The old Colonel gave 
me a terrific blast from his bugle mouth, which awakened every 
officer in the house. Some one crawling from under another 
blanket pointed to General Pleasonton’s room, which I entered 
unceremoniously, glad enough to get any place out of sound of 
the old Colonel’s voice. 

I found General Pleasonton, by the aid of the commissary candle 
I carried for a lantern, lying asleep on an ambulance stretcher. 
At the head of his couch stood an empty cracker-box, on which 
was the remnant of his student lamp—about an inch of candle— 
along side of which were two derringer pistols. 

Probably because I was nervous or rattled, by the fuss I had 
raised in the hall outside, I abruptly awakened the General, at the 
same moment stooping down to light his candle with mine. The 
General must have been having a nightmare. The moment I spoke 
he started up, grabbed for his pistols, and scared me so badly that 
I dropped the candle on the floor, leaving us in the dark, retreat¬ 
ing to the door, as I said : “Don’t shoot; it’s me.” After another 
“blessing” for my midnight endeavor to deliver a message, I got 
the mattter straightened out. 

I was telling General Pleasonton of this incident recently, 
which he recalled in his usual pleasant manner, though he insists 
that he never carried a pistol during the entire war. 

General Pleasonton was certainly one of the most courteous, 
gentlemanly General officers in the Army of the Potomac. 

It was my privilege and pleasure to be near his person a great 
deal up to Gettysburg, and I cannot recall a single instance of his 
using harsh or ungentlemanly language toward his associates. 
Indeed, the General had more the appearance and manner of a 
Presbyterian minister than of a dashing cavalryman.. During the 
war, he wore his full beard closely trimmed, going about the camps 
in his quiet, easy way, like a chaplain. 


$08 


THE BOY SPY. 


It was Custer, and Kilpatrick, and Gregg, who possessed the 
dashing, dare-devil style. Buford, like Pleasonton, was an old 
Regular, and went about among his troops as if the war was a 
business that could not be hurried. 

I saw General Pleasonton angry one day at a matter that seemed 
so trifling that all the Staff enjoyed the affair. His servant, or 
hostler, who took care of his blooded riding horse, had been regu¬ 
larly supplied by the General with a little cash, to be used in keep¬ 
ing a supply of loaf or lump sugar on hand. It was the GeneraPs 
habit before mounting to receive from his hostler a lump of the 
sugar, which he fed himself to his horse. It is said, you know, 
that the feeding of a lump of sugar to a horse regulary has an 
effect similar to love powders, and creates a peculiar attachment 
of the horse to the feeder of the sugar. 

On this occasion, either the contraband had spent the sugar 
allowance for “commissary,” or some one desired to play a trick on 
the General by substituting some lumps of drugs from the hospital 
steward's chest for the sugar. The horse found out the deceit and 
kicked on it, and investigation showed the General that he had 
been trifled with, and he was very mad about it. 

It is probably true that General Pleasonton, as the Chief of Cav¬ 
alry, will be held responsible for not having obtained information 
of General Lee's escape from Fredericksburg. I have talked witli 
General Pleasonton as recently as the summer of 1887 on this sub¬ 
ject, but his explanation would make an interesting chapter in itself 
and does not pertain to this narrative of facts. 

I hope it may not be considered egotistical in me to observe 
here that I, as a scout and spy at headquarters, was in no way 
responsible for the lack of information of Lee's departure. I was 
not Chief of the Secret Service. I cannot resist the temptation to 
say right here, in connection with my proposed services with Burn- 1 
side, that, if he had remained in command, I would have been doing 
signal duty from Geno's house in Fredericksburg, or from some 
point in the enemy's lines. 

If I had gone over the river, as proposed, and had mixed with 
the Confederates as a spy, I certainly would have secured informa¬ 
tion of the movement of two of Lee's corps. I should most assur¬ 
edly have been able to have signaled this information ove^ the 


THE BOY SPY. 


509 


river, and then and there General Hooker would have received the 
credit for having “so wonderfully divined the enemy^s movements 
and thwarted his purposes.” The poor, despised Spy would proba¬ 
bly have been hung, and his services never been heard of. 



CHAPTER XXXI. 


FAREWELL TO FREDERICKSBURG—GENERAL PLEASONTON—CAV¬ 
ALRY FIGHTING AT BRANDY AND ALDIE—LOOKING AFTER 

STUART'S REBEL CAVALRY—A COUPLE OF CLOSE CALLS—CHASED 
! BY MOSBYS GUERILLAS—WITH CUSTER IN FREDERICK, MD—THE 

DAY BEFORE THE BATTLE, FLIRTING WITH THE GIRLS. 

Just how long we of headquarters were on the march from Fred¬ 
ericksburg to Gettysburg is beyond my recollection. We went the 
longest way around to get there, I think, but we will hurry the 
reader along the war-path to Gettysburg. As it was Pleasonton's 
business to find out where Lee was going, we had to cover considera* 
ble ground in chasing the devil (Stuart) around the bush. 

The first incident or date of importance was the great cavalrj 
battle of Brandy Station, which has been so fully written up that ] 
only need to mention that I was “thar or tharabouts"—in the real 
of a haymow. 

It was Buford, of my brigade, who should have the credit of 
maneuvring the cavalry there. In result, it rather astonished the 
Confederates. After this encounter, a “Yankee on a horse" was 
more respected by them. It was the only cavalry battle of the war. 
We had other little skirmishes on the outposts, of no particular 
interest to this narrative. One little circumstance remains vividly 
fixed in my mind in connection with our cavalry skirmish along the 
rugged, rough Blue Ridge Mountains or Gaps. 

At one point—Middleburg, I think—we had a rumpus with some 
of Imboden's, or Stuart's, men, who were opposed to our looking 
through the Gap to see what Lee was doing in the Valley. 

I had been sent out to scout, and for this mounted secret service 
a second man was sent along. 

The instructions were to get on some untraveled road and reach 
the top of the mountain, or, at least, some position from which we 
could use our signal glasses to view the Valley on the other side. It 
was understood that Lee was moving down or up the Valley, but 

Pleasonton desired to know just what infantry force was yet iu 

mo 


THE BO V SPY. 


5 11 

front. To obtain this information, two of us started out alone about 
three or four o’clock one morning, hoping to get a secure place in 
the woods on a mountain-top by the light of an early dawn, where 
we would remain quietly all day, using our glasses from tree-tops, 
etc., and signal back from the mountain. 

Now, bear this in mind, we were to signal back, indicating our 
position by the old Indian plan of a column of smoke. The signal 
men about headquarters, seeing the smoke ascend, would level their 
glasses at the point from which it was supposed to originate. We 
rodo along quietly enough, without meeting anyone, and dressed so 
that we would have passed ordinarily for the guerillas that infested 
the country thereabouts. 

I was particular, however, to keep on my uniform jacket and 
pantaloons, saber, etc., though I disguised them by rents and rags 
as much as possible. 

I knew very well that to have been captured in the disguise of 
countryman meantjbeing hung as a Spy. The uniform and arms 
protected me from detection and immediate execution. 

We got to a point in the road from which we turned into the 
woods, leading our horses over the rough growth of underbrush a 
half mile or so, where we securely tethered them in a little ravine, 
safe from observation. The poor, tired horses were only too glad 
of a chance for a little rest and quiet, and on this account we did 
not fear their making any noise. 

Laboriously climbing up the rough mountain on foot with our 
paraphernalia, we at last reached a point from which we had a 
clear view of a certain portion of the country on the other side. 

We saw nothing at all like an army below us; in fact, the Con¬ 
federate army had previously passed out of sight at that point, en 
route to Gettysburg. I turned in leisurely to make our coffee and 
“ smoke,” while my chum stood guard with his glass. 

After climbing half a dozen trees, to try to get a back view, we 
at last were compelled to give up, because of the presence of a 
dense wood below, behind which our headquarters were sunken 
completely from our sight. As the next best thing to do, we made 
the signal of “ two smokes,” which had been previously agreed upon 
to signify “no enemy in sight.” 

We remained long enough in the mountain to satisfy ourselves 


512 


TEE BOY SPY. 


that there was no enemy there and not likely to be, and, as we could 
not flag back, we decided to smudge the two fires, so that the two 
smokes would be seen for some time after we should leave on our 
return. 

Finding the horses all right, and feeling so well satisfied that 
there was no enemy near enough to trouble us, we probably became 
too careless. On reaching the road, I proposed riding ahead on the 
road to the summit before returning. My companion, who, by the 
way, was chief clerk of our Adjutant General, and, being as big a 
fool as myself, consented, so we trotted on up the road, feeling per¬ 
fectly safe. At a point right at the summit, probably, we were 
paralyzed to see a blockade or rifle-pit across the road. 

We abruptly stopped at the sight of this, but receiving no salute 
of welcome, we sidled to one side of the road to make room for 
any cannon-balls that might want to pass down. Not stirring any¬ 
one, my friend suggested that it had been abandoned. Feeling 
assured by the deserted-looking appearance of the road, we were 
ready to advance again when, on looking to one side of the road 
in a direction we had not thought of scrutinizing, my comrade 
observed, as he jerked in his horse : “ There’s a man over by that 
old barn,” pointing to the right, and then in hurried tones: “ There 
come two more around the corner.” 

I looked in the direction indicated and saw a half dozen mounted 
men at the edge of a wood ; but the first one wore blue clothes, so 
I reassuringly said : “ Why, it’s some of our men who are out here 
foraging.” 

“No; I’m-if it is. I’m going to get out of range, any¬ 

how with that he turned his horse’s head. I kept my eye on the 
men, and saw, to my horror, two of them raise their guns and 
point at us. 

As quickly as if I had been shot, I jerked my horse around and 
dodged my head on the other side of his neck; the horse turning 
suddenly as I made this motion, threw me entirely out of the sad¬ 
dle on to my feet on the ground. Just as I turned there were two 
shots in quick succession. 

As we were within very close range, the Rebel cavalrymen see¬ 
ing me dropped out of the saddle, stopped firing, supposing, of 
course, I was hit. The funny part of it was, my companions horse 


THE BOY SPY. 


SIS 


had been so accustomed to going “ double” that he could not he 
made to budge a step until my horse was ready to go along with 
him. 

I had not lost the reins and was soon in the saddle, hanging by 
the neck of the horse. I spurred him for dear life and led the 
other horse out of the scrape. It was a close call, and I have not 
the least doubt but that my fall out of the saddle saved,us both, as 
they supposed we were sure game and didn’t follow up until we 
were galloping down the road, there being a fence between us. 

These men were part of the Confederate cavalry that had been on 
the very mountain below us all the time we had been in the woods 
above. 

We returned to camp at Aldie, reported the matter, and were 
complimented highly as “two-fools.” 

During these every-day cavalry skirmishes, while en route to 
Gettysburg, I saw a great many horrible sights in the way of 
wounded cavalrymen and horses. One of the most disagreeable, to 
me, was to see them carry a dead soldier across a led horse's back, 
while a companion walked along side, holding him steady by the 
heels, precisely as if the man was a bag of potatoes, or corn, going 
to mill. There was a great deal of this, which seemed to be the 
only method to get the dead out of those mountains, where ambu¬ 
lances could not travel. It is not pleasant to think or write 
about; but, dear me, I sometimes feel as if all the horrible truths 
should be told. In the war-papers we find but little mention of the 
rough manner of taking care of the wounded, and the disgusting 
disposition of the dead heroes. As General Sherman says: “ I 

don’t want to make any more speeches about the war—it’s not a 
pleasant subject. You know, boys, as well as I do, that war is 
hell.” 

I will just observe, in passing, that a chapter on the “ruling pas¬ 
sions” and dispositions of men, as they lie in field hospitals, would be 
a curious study. My observation has always been that the big, 
blustering fellow, who was often a bully in camp, on getting a little 
wound, was the fellow to make Rome howl when he got under the 
Surgeon in a hospital. Quiet, inoffensive boys, probably lying 
near him with serious and painful wounds, were compelled to hear 
the booby howl like a school-boy who had stumped his sore toe. 


THE BOY SPY. 


m 

We were at Aldie several days. General Hooker’s headquarters 
were somewhere about Fairfax Court House, some ten or twelve 
miles distant, or to our rear. Between this cavalry outpost and the 
Army of the Potomac communication was kept up over one of the 
best of Virginia pikes. I think it must be a section of the National 
pike, leading to Winchester and the West; anyway, it is a good and 
a very straight road, running up and down the hills, so that it 
seems to be always in sight. I remember the road very distinctly, 
from an adventure with guerrillas over it. 

I had been ordered to take a lot of Quartermaster and Paymas¬ 
ter papers into Washington from the Adjutant-General’s headquar¬ 
ters. A headquarters ambulance, driver and two good horses were 
furnished me to reach the railroad at Fairfax Station. Mr. Emer- 
ick, the civil-service Telegrapher who had been at our headquarters, 
accompanied me on this return to Washington. This was the 
same operator whom I had described at Aquia Creek, while en route 
to Old Capitol. He did not recognize me at all, and, of course, I was 
not anxious to identify myself. Being on the move, there was no 
telegraphing to do, and he, as an independent civilian, left the 
army for Washington when he desired to do so, without consulting 
the Generals in the field. 

Right here I will say, as serving to further exphasize the policy 
of the telegraphs as well as the signals being under military control, 
that the Army of the Potomac was practically without a word of 
telegraph communication with Washington from the time they left 
Fairfax and the railroad until two days after the battle of Gettys¬ 
burg. There was, of course, some telegraphing from Frederick, 
Maryland, but it was not reliable, as Stuart was somewhere between 
the lines. 

This is an important fact that should not be forgotten. The 
civil telegraphers abandoned the army when they saw proper, and 
this at a time when it was most important of all the war that they 
should have been in communication with Washington. The Signal 
Corps, on the other hand, established and operated a line of signals 
all along the march from Sugar Loaf Mountain to South Mountain, 
Monterey, Green Castle, Pennsylvania, up to Parnell’s Knob, in 
the Cumberland Valley, Pennsylvania. 

The ambulance that brought ns to the railroad was ordered to 




THE BOY SPY. 


515 


await my return from Washington. I reached Alexandria in the 
evening, when I was met by my elder brother, Spencer, then in 
charge of the railroad telegraphs. My brother took me to his 
boarding-house to spend the night. He, having recently married a 
wealthy Maryland lady. Miss Katie Hyatt, of Hyattsville, was liv¬ 
ing in considerable style for Alexandria war times. I therefore 
felt quite uncomfortable in their society, dressed only in my hard- 
used uniform. When shown to my room, in which was a comfort¬ 
able, clean bed, I couldn’t think of occupying it, so slept on the 
floor alongside, more comfortably than if I had been between the 
clean sheets. 

The next day I delivered my package of papers, muster-rolls, 
pay-rolls and a whole haversack full of Adjutant-GeneraFs papers 
to the proper officers at the War Department, and started on my 
return via Alexandria and the railroad to Fairfax. 

I found the ambulance waiting for me all right, and we at once 
started off via Fairfax Court House. Here I found a headquarters 
horse, and as the ambulance was to be detained at Fairfax for a 
couple of hours, waiting an escort to convey it out to Aldie, I con¬ 
cluded to ride on out in advance. 

It was not a very sensible conclusion, to be sure; but, as I have so 
often said, I did not have very much sense, and acted usually as the 
spirit moved me, without thinking about the probable consequences. 

I rode along nicely for several miles, passing our infantry and 
outposts, who were stationed along a little run some distance in 
advance of Fairfax Court House. Along in the evening, just about 
sunset, I reached a hill-top, from which I could see the road straight 
ahead over a valley and thence up another hill. The road on the 
other hill ahead of me was cut through a dense wood, such as is 
usually found on these hills. 

I discovered something ahead, apparently standing in the road, 
on the top of the further hill, but paid little attention to it, sup¬ 
posing it was merely a wagon-train stopping for a feed or going into 
camp for the night. I rode on down the hill carelessly, getting 
almost out of sight of the hill-top beyond while in the valley below. 

Seeing considerable smoke ahead, I was confirmed in my first 
impression that it was a wagon-train camp just lighting their camp¬ 
fires. 


516 


THE BO Y SPY. 


On coming closer, I observed a great deal of bustle around tiie 
wagons, but, as.that was nothing unusual among a lot of teamsters 
and mules, I paid but little attention to it, and jogged along on my 
horse, singing to myself the popular song of those days, “ Ga}^ and 
Happy.” 

But when I came in full view, and so close that I could see a 
wagon on fire, I began to get suddenly interested. Men were fly¬ 
ing around at a lively rate, as I supposed putting out the fire, a 
didn't exactly like the looks of the thing, and determined in my 
own mind to reconnoiter and advance slowly. Discovering a little, 
old house in the edge of a clearing to the side of the road, a short 
distance from the scene I have described, I rode into the little yard, 
and called to a woman who was holding a baby in her arms: “ Who 
are those men up the road ? ” 

“Soldiers, I reckon, sir.” 

“ Yes, I know; but what soldiers ? ” 

“Colonel Mosby's soldiers, I reckon, sir.” 

That was enough. I had a package of reports and papers 
and some private letters in my pocket, to deliver to Pleasonton 
and other officers about headquarters. Feeling sure of my belt, 
pulling my cap down tight over my face, I took a short grip on the 
reins. 

“ What are they doing up there ?" 

“ They done captured that wagon-train, sir; and I reckon they 
will burn the wagons when they get the horses away.” 

I turned my horse back to the main road, feeling a little nervous, 
but determined to run for my life. 

The moment I got into the road, and without looking up at the 
burning wagons, I turned my horse's head back and put spurs 
deeply into his flanks. I had not made five jumps before I heard 
the cracks of at least a dozen rifles. This only nerved me to more 
desperate lashings with spurs, leaning forward to the horse's mane 
as I thrust the spurs into him at every jump. They came after me, 
yelling like a band of Comanche Indians; but I had a good start, 
and their guns were empty. 

It was a good race for about three miles. I won, and saved my 
neck again. As I reached the picket-lines that I nad passed, x 
reported to the officer in command that guerrillas were burning our 



VtttOAl yjxC 


OOtUX&m, MOSBT^S SOLDIERS. I RECKON 8m,” 





















































9 



























I 




f 









train, but this fellow—a Colonel—refused to cross his men over the 
run to help to save them. 

I rode on back toward Fairfax and met some officers of Hooker’s 
Staff, giving them my adventure. While I was talking to them, we 
heard sounds as if a distant blast was going off. Looking ahead 
over the straight road, in the direction whence I had retreated, we 
saw a dense cloud of white smoke, like a fog-bank, rise over the tops 
of the trees. Hooker’s aide said: 

“Well, those fellows will get badly fooled if they are burning 
that ammunition train.” 

That was it. They hurried back to Fairfax, and, there being 
no other cavalry available. Hooker sent out his bodyguard—Rush 
Lancers—whom I piloted back to the hill-top. When we got near, 
one or two wagons were yet unburned, but as they were surrounded 
by the debris of the explosion, we were afraid to go near, lest another 
wagon-load of ammunition would go off. 

I have read Mark Twain’s old joke regarding his bravery, in 
being in the army where cannon-balls and bullets were thickest—- 
right where whole wagon-loads ?f ammunition were going right 
past him—but after this experience with a wagon train, I’m willing 
to admit this as about as dangerous as anything in an army. 

I saved my papers, my life, and got back to Aldie and headquar¬ 
ters that night under the escort of Hooker’s bodyguard—or “ turkey 
drivers,” as we called them. 

It was Pleasonton’s cavalry scouts that definitely ascertained 
that Lee had crossed the Potomac into Maryland. We of the head¬ 
quarters moved rapidly from Aldie, crossing the Potomac at soma 
point near Leesburg. I think it was the Sunday preceding the con¬ 
tact with Lee that headquarters spent in Frederick, Maryland. Wo 
were comfortably quartered at the City Hotel, on a main street of 
that old town. It was one of the old-fashioned country taverns, 
with a big yard or court in the rear, for the accommodation of the 
country teams that visited the city on market days. On this par¬ 
ticular Sunday the stables were filled with the horses of the Head¬ 
quarters Staff, while the yard was crowded with ambulances, bag- 
' gage-wagons, commissary supplies, etc. 

Custer was with us in Frederick all of that Sunday, and spent 
most of his time at the big parlor window up-stairs flirting with a 


518 


THE BO T SPY. 


couple of quite young girls who lived opposite the hotel. The peo. 
pie usually lived above their stores in the town, and I remember 
very distinctly the name on the sign was spelled “ Schley”; so, if 
there were one or two Misses Schley in Frederick in 1863, their 
children will have the testimony of a very-mucli-interested eye-wit¬ 
ness that their mothers were beautiful ladies, who so attracted the 
handsome General Custer that he almost forgot all about his cavalry 
pickets who were on the South Mountain hunting Stuart's lost cav¬ 
alry. In those days Custer wore his hair long; it was quite curly, 
and touched the blue velvet boyish-looking jacket which he always 
wore; this, with the long, loose eiids of the invariable red necktie^ 
gave the cavalry hero a very picturesque appearance, especially 
when he dashed along on his horse with all the Staff and orderlies 
spurring after him in the dust. As I remember, we of the cavalry 
were after J. E. B. Stuart. No one seemed to know where he was; 
even General Lee was at that time in entire ignorance of Stuart's 
whereabouts. 



CHAPTER XXXII. 


SENT TO FIND GENERAL BUFORD—A HASTY RIDE—THE BATTLE 

OF GETTYSBURG—CEMETERY RIDGE—GENERAL DOUBLEDAY— 

GENERAL HANCOCK —THE SECOND DAY OF THE BATTLE. 

It was the Rebel Scout, Harrison, who gave to General Lee the 
first information about the close pursuit of Hooker. This one faith¬ 
ful tramp Rebel soldier carried on foot to Lee and Longstreet at 
Chambersburg the important intelligence that Hooker had crossed 
the Potomac, and General Lee, oil the report of this single scout, 
in whom he had implicit confidence, issued orders at once recalling 
his forces from the front at Harrisburg, and concentrating his 
entire strength at Gettysburg. I mention this fact, because it is the 
only instance on official record of a great General giving credit to 
his Scout or Spy for important secret service. 

This solitary Scout succeeded in doing for General Lee alone 
what was expected of Stuart’s large cavalry force, and which they 
failed to accomplish. 

I was sent out from Frederick with orders to find General 
Buford, who commanded the Cavalry Division in the advance. It 
was expected that I would be of service in military signaling, and 
especially in opening up communication with Washington and 
Baltimore by wire. This was my special duty, and when we ran 
into a country where there were telegraph wires, I became quite an 
important fellow; all the Generals being so anxious to get or send 
news, they cheerfully afforded me all the detail of soldiers I could 
use to help me. 

1 found Buford, but when I got to him he was so busy out on 
die hill, on the morning of July 1st, that he didn’t have any time to 
talk to me. The night before the battle I spent with some of 
Buford’s headquarters men near a town called,'I think, Middletown 
or Middleburg, Maryland. It being very late when I got up to 
them, I turned my horse into a little stable, or barn, belonging to 
the house at which the boys had quartered themselves. Headquar- 

U9 


520 


THE BOY SPY. 


ters usually selected a good, hospitable-looking house for their 
temporary quarters, you know. 

Thoroughly tired out with my hard day's ride in the sun, while 
hunting Buford all over that part of the country, I lay down in the 
haymow of the stable, and was soon sound asleep, and wholly 
oblivious to all surroundings. I think that I must have had two 
sleeps that night, instead of one long one. Probably it was on 
account of my secluded position that I was not awakened until late 
the following morning, and then it was by Buford's first guns at 
Gettysburg. Rubbing my eyes open, I saw, with astonishment, that 
the bright sun was peeping through the cracks of the old barn. 

The sound of each distant gun served to hasten my hay-loft toilet, 
and sliding down out of the haymow as quickly as a firerhan gets 
down his pole, I had the saddle on the horse and was ready to travel, 
in either direction, in as short a time as the fire-engines get their 
rigs ready when an alarm is sounded. In my hurry I did not take 
time to count out an exact dozen of eggs from a nest in the manger, 
from which my sudden appearance had scared the old hen. She 
expressed her surprise and indignation in a great deal of noise, 
but I took no notice of her protests, and slipped, with a dexterity 
that only a cavalryman of the Army of the Potomac had acquired, 
the whole lot into my haversack, nest-egg and all, and hastily threw 
it over my shoulder. 

Getting outside, I was further surprised to discover that the place 
had seemingly been abandoned in the night, not only by head¬ 
quarters, but by the occupants of the house. There was not a soul 
to be seen, and without being exactly sure whether I was within the 
enemy's lines or our own, I mounted and hastily spurred on toward the 
sound of the guns, that was becoming more frequent. 

I only knew that I was on Pennsylvania soil, my native State, 
and within a day's ride from my birthplace, and hoped that I should 
find myself among friends. There was certainly enemies where the 
firing was going on. I had not gone far until I met a farmer's 
wagon loaded, apparently, with every member of his family, and, 
no doubt, all their worldly goods that they could pile into it. 

When I stopped them to ask about the racket down the road, all 
of them began to talk at once, in broken Pennsylvania Dutch, about 
"the war down below town." I learned further from some scared 


THE EOT SPY. 


521 

natives and some stragglers in blue, that were scurrying along the 
road, and were becoming thicker the nearer I got, as they put it, 
“ The Rebels are fighting with our men on the other side of town/* 

That was enough for me. I was young and active, and, as a 
Pennsylvania boy, I was most anxious to participate in some way in 
fights that were to take place'in my own State. I made that old 
horse dash along the road to the battle field of Gettysburg, for about 
four miles that morning, in a way that would have put to shame 
General Sheridan’s ride down the Valley. If my celebrated ride 
could have been done up in poetry and set to music, it would, as a 
parody on Sheridan’s ride, go down into the literature of the century 
after the style of John Gilpin’s famous ride at the sound of artillery. 
I’d give the old nag the spurs and make him jump ahead as if the 
cannon balls were after instead of ahead of us. 

That beautiful morning of July 1st, as I rode along that old pike, 
the one fear uppermost in my mind was that the battle of Gettys¬ 
burg would be all over before 1 could get there. I felt that I 
should never be able to meet my Pennsylvania friends again if it 
should unfortunately happen that Buford would drive the Rebels 
out of the State without my assistance. That’s what made me in 
such a hurry. 

I was delayed a little on the road by an accident. I had noticed, 
while tearing along, that there was an awful bad air in that part of 
the country, but I had, as a soldier, become accustomed to bad 
smells hovering about an army in Virginia, that I didn’t take much 
account of it—rather satisfying myself with the reflection that the 
smell simply indicated the presence of the Rebel Army in the 
neighborhood. But it became so oppressive that I checked up my 
Mad-Anthony-Wayne gait long enough to look around me. It was 
the eggs in my haversack. In my excitement, I had forgotten all 
about them, and, of course, every time my horse galloped the haver¬ 
sack, being strung loose to my saddle, tried to keep time, but 
couldn’t always do it, with the result of beating the eggs up into a 
soft mess, and mixing shell-dry coffee, hard tack and cold meat into 
a fancy omelette. 

When I discovered the horrible condition of things, the eggs 
were dripping down my horse’s flanks, and when the horse stood still 
the odor wafted itself around me. I got one good whiff and then cut 


THE BOT SPY. 


the thing loose, boldly sacrificing my expected^ hwkfast of eggs 
and also all the good coffee and other nice things my kit was packed 
with. I have always believed that there must have been more than 
one bad egg in the dozen. In writing up this ride in poetry, after 
Buchanan’s Sheridan, this incident should not be made too promi¬ 
nent. I record it simply as one of the necessary ingredients of a 
true story. 

I had a double incentive after this to hurry me along; the awful 
stench clung to the flanks of my horse and I tried to ride him out 
of the range of it. When I reached the top of the hill, now so 
widely known as Cemetery Ridge, on the morning of July 1st, it was 
as quiet and restful as the old graveyard probably is this July 1st, 
1889. Beyond the town, to the west, which was visible from this 
point, were to be seen in the air over the tops of the trees the too- 
familiar little curls or puffs of white, steamy-looking smoke, that I 
knew were from exploding shells. For the moment there seemed be 
a lull in the proceedings—only an occasional gun and the more fre¬ 
quent sharp, hammer-like sound of infantry firing on a skirmish line. 

But I’m not going to attempt a description of the battle of 
Gettysburg; that has already been done too thoroughly and well. I’ll 
tell only what I saw that day, in as few words as I can put it. 

When I rode through the town the people were gathered in 
groups in the street; ladies were at the windows talking in a whin¬ 
ing, half-crying way to other nervous neighbors, who were, perhaps^ 
at an up-stairs window, praying at intervals, or asking in a beseech¬ 
ing way, “ What is to become of us all ?” During all this time the 
soldiers inside of the town, in a sullen, quiet, business way, peculiar 
to old coffee-coolers, were moving about, indifferently, amidst the 
excitement that must have struck the inhabitants as being very 
unconcerned for soldiers. 

I remembered one fellow in blue loitering where I had halted 
for a drink, while the lady of the house was kindly dishing out 
glasses of water. She appealed to him for something encouraging 
or hopeful. He looked up at her, and then, turning around in the 
direction of the occasional musketry, as if he had just discovered 
that there was something going on, assured her in an easy-going 
way: “ Oh, that’s all right; that’s only a little squabble. Our army 
isn’t out there/’ 


THE BOY SPY. 


52$ 

T forged ah ' 1 straight out of the Cliambersburg Road, galloped 
my horse up the hill and on past the Seminary, and might have 
gone a little too far on that line if I hadn't been summarily stopped 
by an officer, who was standing close behind the fence beside the 
road. 

“ Where in-are you going ?" was the polite salutation. 

“When I explained that I was a Staff' orderly from head¬ 
quarters hunting General Buford, he observed : “Well, you go out 
that road any further and you will find some Rebel General." 

Another officer, more polite and obliging, kindly volunteered 
the information, “Buford's cavalry were in those woods this morn¬ 
ing," pointing to a grove to the left. 

It was further explained that the fence was down a little dis¬ 
tance up the road. I made a break for the gap, and got safely out 
of the now-deserted highway, and ran in behind the big stone 
barn and dismounted, when I discovered that I was right at the 
front of our lines. Before me, stretched along the ground at full 
length, was a brigade of infantry, extenting to the grove on the left. 
This was the advance of our line of battle, under Doubleday. I 
wanted very much to get into that grove, to communicate with 
headquarters, but I had run myself, precipitately, into a trap, and 
couldn't get out without the risk of being shot. 

It was safe enough, for the time being, while behind the old 
stone barn, but there was that awful gap of a quarter of a mile 
between it and the grove. I dismounted, went inside of the barn, 
and there witnessed such a scene as can best be described by a refer¬ 
ence to a first visit to an insane asjdum. It seemed to me that 
from every corner, crevice and stall of the dark old basement of the 
barn I saw glaring at me the wild eyes of maniacs. In a word, the 
barn was full of skulkers—of cowards, who no doubt looked upon 
me as the leader of a detail to drive them out into their ranks in the 
front. 

^ was worse frightened by those fellows than by the line of battle 
of the Rebels in the front, and, hurrying out of the place, got on my 
horse and hauled down my cap, felt for the security of my belt, and 
was making ready for a dash over the Gap, when my attention was 
attracted by some officer's loud voice, who, in a whining, half-cry¬ 
ing tone,, was haranguing his men, who were lying down in his front. 


5U 


THE BOY SPY. 


1 shall never forget the expression on the faces of those poor fellows 
as they would look up at their officer and glance longingly to the 
rear, and alternately gaze with a frightened, serious look toward the 
Rebel lines, their pale, blanched faces looking the whiter through 
the dirt and smoke of battle, that was on them like a war-paint. 

In this connection I have a conundrum for the Chaplain: How 
is the indisputable fact to be accounted for, or reconciled, that the 
same men in line of battle, facing death, will, in one and the same 
moment, be praying and cursing, as I heard them in this line— 
“God have mercy on us,” and after the first volley, or when a 
charge was ordered, the prayer, almost in the same breath, turned 
to the most terrible oaths— “God damn your souls.” 

I went up to the Colonel and reported the discovery of the men 
in the barn. To my surprise, he only said : “ Oh, that’s nothing; 
let them alone.” 

I have looked carefully into all the accounts of the different bat¬ 
tles for some mention of the cowards and skulkers, but, somehow, 
this pajt of the battle is not brought to the attention of the read¬ 
ing public nowadays, though it is not denied that these form quite 
a large percentage in each army. 

It was imperative that I should obey orders and report to Gen¬ 
eral Buford. 

I had found him all right, but there remained between us the 
little space that I must cross. I screwed up my courage to the stick¬ 
ing point, and, with my head bent low, I made the run safely into the 
grove, where I found General Buford sitting quietly on his horse, 
accompanied by one or two of his Staff. lie did not seem to have 
a happy or satisfied look, and I judged at once, from his uneasy 
manner, that something was going wrong. I soon found out. Gen¬ 
eral Reynolds was lying by the two little elms along side of the fence, 
dying or dead. This was what put so serious and sorrowful an 
expression on the faces of all the officers just then. A Rebel sharp¬ 
shooter from that stone barn had killed the best General the Army 
of the Potomac contained—he whom we all knew at headquarters 
should have been its Commander-in-Chief. 

Every moment we staid in the grove was a holy terror to me; it 
seemed as if the whole Rebel artillery had discovered that it was 
headquarters, and were* concentrating their shells into it. They 


TIIE BOY SPY. 


525 


would go crashing through the tree-tops, shrieking and tearing 
through the branches of the trees as we used to throw clubs into 
apple trees to knock down the fruit. General Buford, noticing my 
uneasiness as Fd glance up through the trees, as if expecting to see 
the apples fall, quietly observed to me: “They have not got the 
range yet.” He said this in a tone indicating that he was only 
waiting till they did get it, before he should leave. 

My horse became awfully nervous, to say nothing of myself, and 
I didn’t feel that I wanted the Rebel artillery to hunt their range 
with me for a target. 

I became suddenly solicitous about the expediency of looking 
after some signal and telegraph business in the town, a mile or so 
to the rear, and safely “beyond range.” 

So, riding pp to the General, saluting in the Regular Army style, 
bowing my head low as a shell went over, I meekly suggested going 
to town to see if there were any telegraph operators to be found. 

“All right,” said the General, significantly, “we will all be 
back there soon.” 

Turning my horse’s head to the rear, I didn’t hesitate so long 
about starting as I had for the barn, but boldly made a dash to the 
rear over a lot of old fields that lay between the grove and the 
Seminary. 

I thought it about a mile distant at that time, and I have since 
visited the ground and was surprised to find it so short a distance; 
but I covered it so quickly that some allowance may lie made 
for the miscalculation. 

I don’t believe any horse-race jockey ever got over the same 
amount of the earth any quicker than I did that last quarter on the 
home stretch—I had got “in range,” and was in a hurry to get out. 

This was a piece of open ground, where it seemed all the shells 
that passed through the trees in the grove stopped and ploughed 
into the earth, and scattered the dirt, or exploded in the air. 

I felt for the minute and a half that I was out from under the 
imaginary protection of the trees, that the whole Rebel Army were 
after me. Really I was so badly rattled that I did not know 
whether I was on a horse or afoot. Once behind the big brick 


THE BOY SPY. 


526 

Seminary Building, I felt it safe enough to dismount, cool off myself 
and the horse, and repair damages. 

Discovering that both the horse and myself were unharmed, 
and being anxious to see how the rest of them out that way were 
getting along, I availed myself of my privilege as a signal man on 
the Staff, and climbed the stairs to the top of the building, getting 
out on the cupola. 

There were several Generals up there. They were somewhat 
excited, and talking together in an earnest manner about something 
that was going on in another part of the field. 

They left the cupola as if they were in a hurry. So did I, with- 
out stopping to examine the outlook very closely. There was plenty 
to be seen—it was quite a moving panorama of blue and gray, and 
far more realistic from that platform than the cyclorama I have 
viewed from similar elevations in the center of the battle scenes 
they depict. 

I noticed from the cupola that there was some excitement or stir 
to the right of the town. I had not thought of there being any 
Rebels, except those I had seen immediately in our front. As I 
had seen enough of this part of the field, I concluded to go over to 
the right and see what I could do to save the day there. 

I went down the steps, three or four at a jump, and was on my 
horse before any of the Generals, who had preceded me. 

I rode out toward the right as far as it was expedient for a horse 
to go. 

In 1863 there was a railroad embankment, or fill, along that edge 
of the town. Behind this I dismounted and fastened my horse to 
a fence, discreetly advanced as dismounted cavalry to reconnoiter, 
and, if possible, learn what all the fuss over here was about. I 
soon found out—one good look was enough. There was another 
barn out that road, and from behind it, or from all corners, puffs 
of white smoke were to be seen at frequent intervals. Beyond this 
there were other lines of this same white smoke; and, before I 
knew exactly what was going on, there came suddenly from another 
direction that aivful sharp din of volleys of musketry. Dear me, 
how sharp and how sudden the noise of musketry—it rings to-day 
in my ear, after a lapse of twenty-five years, as distinctly as it were 
but yesterday. I frequently visit Gettysburg—the place lias a 




THE BOY SPY. 


527 


strange fascination for me. As I walk alone over the very ground I 
am trying to tell about here, I recall every incident, and wonder, 
and wonder, in the strange quiet of the old town, where all the 
200,000 are to-day! 

“ No marshalling troops, no bivouac song, 

No banner to gleam and wave; 

But, Oh these battles ! they last so lony — 

From boyhood to the grave.” 

After this outbreak, which we all knew preceded a charge, there 
came the usual confusion, accompanied by the yells and indescrib¬ 
able ugly sounds, the echo of which seems to chill one’s blood, even 
now. 

In this confusion and rush, I nearly lost my horse; he had torn 
loose from his fastenings, in the jam and tear of artillery, breaking 
to the rear along the road; he was retreating in disorder among the 
boys of the Eleventh Corps. When I caught up with him and 
mounted again, there was a crowd of infantrymen jamming along 
the road. It is a fact that a “doboy,” as we cavalrymen called the 
infantry, instinctively hates a cavalryman of his own army as much 
as he does that of the enemy, so that, in my isolated predicament, 
in trying to navigate my horse along a road filled with excited Ger¬ 
mans, with bayonets on their guns, I had, literally, a hard road to 
travel. 

I intended to go Dack to the Seminary, which I had recently left, 
thinking it the best place to get a good view of the field. I was 
steering my horse in that direction, down the main street of the 
town, when I discovered that, seemingly, everybody was coming 
away from there. 

It looked as if the show was over and the crowd was rushing 
along the streets, as if anxious to catch the first car, or the last train. 

I did not realize that it was a retreat until I saw riding up the 
road, in a direction away from the Seminary, a cavalcade, which I 
knew to be a General and Staff. 

It was General Doubleday. The handsome General, erect 
and dignified at the head of his Staff, was riding alone with a bear¬ 
ing very much as I have witnessed other Generals on the fancy 
parades at the head of the column of play soldiers. 


528 


THE BOY SPY. 


Except for an angry flush on his face, and evidently in a bad 
humor about something that had gone wrong, he was as cool as I 
have seen him since on ordinary occasions. 

On looking through the dusty and crowded streets that dread¬ 
ful afternoon toward the Seminary, which I had so recently left 
some distance inside our lines, I was astonished beyond measure to 
see that a battery was right in the middle of the road firing like 
all nation toward us. It has always remained one of the great sur¬ 
prises of my life to understand how that Rebel battery could pos¬ 
sibly have gotten through our army so suddenly and have been 
firing shells down the road into our retreating column from our 
hill, when I thought, according to the tactics, it ought to have 
been two or three miles out of the road on their own hill. The 
frequent shots did not hasten General Doubleday’s pace a particle; 
he kept on giving his orders in a sullen, ill-natured tone, but 
walked his horse as slowly as if heading a funeral procession. 

My young heart was distressed to see that our men were begin¬ 
ning to pour into the main street from every direction—all were 
eagerly making for the main road through town to Cemetery Hill. 

It was very much as if a church, or theatre, had been dismissed 
in a panic; the people who were in the side aisles were rushing down 
on the crowds in the main entrance, so that everything became 
blocked by the confusion worse confounded. 

The ladies of the town, from almost every house and window, 
were imploring the men to give them some explanation of the 
movement, the suddenness of which bordered on a panic. 

As a Pennsylvania boy, I felt that it was disgraceful to abandon 
one of our towns to Rebel invaders, and with such thoughts 
burning within me, and fired by the excitement of the hour, 
remembering that in my ride into the town that morning I had 
passed Slocum’s (Twelfth) Corps only a little way out, I rode up, 
facing the stately Doubleday, and, after saluting, said: 

“ General, I passed General Slocum only a little way out the 
road.” The General,without halting, gruffly said: 

“Where is Slocum?” 

“Why, out the road a little piece.” 

“When did you see him?” ' 


THE BOY SPY. 


529 


“This morning.” 

Just then a shell went over the top of a house, exploded on the 
roof, making a most infernal noise, which scared all the horses, 
and in the mix-up, as I was facing the General, my horse could 
not march backwards, I became tangled up with him, and impeded 
for a moment his progress. Turning to me, with a savage ex¬ 
pression, he said: 

“Get out of my way,-you. We all know where Slocum 

was this morning. Where is Slocum, now? Who in-are 

you, anyhow?” 

I didn’t insist on continuing the conversation with General 
Doubleday at the time; but I have had the pleasure of hearing 
from this grand old man, since the publication of this day’s 
experience. 

When I saw so undisputably that everybody else was going to 
leave town, I concluded that I might as well go too, and I stood 
not on the order of my going, but went at once. 

On the occasion of President Cleveland’s visit to Gettysburg, it 
was my pleasure, as well as my business as a newspaper man, to 
accompany that party. I heard then one of the old residents—one 
of the “reliable old liars”—tell a distinguished party that the Rebel 
band played “Dixie” on the square of the town at 1 p.m. that day. 

I want to say that is not true. There was lots of music at 
1 p. m., but there were no bands playing that day that I ever heard 
of. It was late in the afternoon when we had our parade through 
the streets of Gettysburg to the music of booming cannon, screech¬ 
ing shell, and the sharp notes of musketry. 

This music was in the air all around us, accompanied by the 
groans and cries of the wounded and dying men, who were being 
piled into the court house and churches of the old burg. 

I managed to crowd my frenzied horse through the dense mass 
of soldiers, wagons,etc., who were surging toward Cemetery Hill. 

I got there just as soon as I could, too. 

On reaching the brow of the hill, I was gratified and surprised 
to see General Howard sitting on his horse, quite alone, in the lot 
to the right of the cemetery gate, or across the road from it. 



THE BO T SPY. 


$30 


All of this time, the men of the Eleventh Corps, which, in the 
retreat led the way, had been coming steadily up the hili from town 
and kept on going down over the hill on the other side, like so 
many sheep that follow a leader blindly over a fence. 

It never occurred to me that there would be any halt then, and 
I assert here, bluntly, my opinion, as being unprejudiced and based 
solely on the events as they actually occurred to me at that day, 
that General Howard had not, at that hour, any other expectation 
than to retreat further back. He certainly had not made any effort 
whatever to stop the rushing to the rear of his men of the Eleventh 
Corps. They not only swarmed up the one road, but came strag¬ 
gling through the by-ways and fields, skipping over the stone fence, 
and, unmolested, kept going on farther back, as if it were a matter 
of course. 

I stopped on the side of the road, near General Howard that I 
might look around from this elevation. 

To my consternation, I discovered, from the musketry and con¬ 
fusion, that the Rebels were going it lively over toward our extreme 
right, in the direction of what is now known as Culp’s Hill. 

I was satisfied that the Rebels would get around to the road I 
had come down on, and capture the entire force then at Gettys¬ 
burg. 

For obvious reasons, I did not intend to be made prisoner, if my 
horse’s legs could keep me out of the grip of the encircling Rebs. 

While I was making my way back to the road I ran against Gen¬ 
eral Hancock, who had just come up in search of Howard. Han¬ 
cock—brilliant, dashing, glorious Hancock—rode across the way 
to Howard, who had been standing silently biting his finger-nails, 
evidently as much rattled as it was possible for a good soldier to be. 

“Howard,” said Hancock, in a voice and with an emphasis that 
attracted the attention of the crowd that had gathered there, “let’s 
get them behind that stone fence; they can never get us out of 
that.” 

Howard looked surprise, and said something in a low voice, 
trembling with excitement, which I took to be an acquiescence with 
Hancock’s suggestion. There were some other words between them 
that were not heard, but we all knew that Hancock, from his fiery, 
almost blustering manner, was urging Howard to the importance of 


THE BOY SPY. 


531 


this step. Hancock's very presence seemed to inspire tlie men, who 
had now begun to gather on the hill in great crowds, attracted by 
the excitable manner of the General. 

Jlist then Doubleday reached this point. Hancock, upon seeing 
this lighting General, abruptly leaving Howard, turned to Double- 
day and began to explain with excited gestures the importance 
of securing this position. Doubleday, at a glance, seemed to take 
in the importance of this step. He and Hancock talked together 
for a moment only, when Hancock, without again referring to 
Howard (who still sat silently in his saddle, looking over toward 
Culpas Hill, his back now turned to the crowd), said to Doubleday: 
“Noav, you put your men behind that fence, and don't let 
another man go back of it." Then, turning to the Staff of assem¬ 
bled officers that were there, he said: “Don't allow another- 

man to go over that hill; drive them all up behind that stone wall." 

Some one asked if they—the Staff—should use force indiscrimin¬ 
ately. Doubleday retorted, violently: “Yes; shoot any-man 

that refuses to obey." 

Some officer whom I can not locate turned to all of us, took com¬ 
mand, and ordered every officer and soldier to draw his pistol and 
saber and prevent another man from going down the hill. For the 
first and only time during the four years of the war I used a saber 
on our own men of the Eleventh Corps. Ho more men went back, 
thanks to Hancock. Howard and Hancock, standing together, were 
having some further animated conversation. I was close enough to 
hear only these words, spoken petulantly by Howard in answer to 
something that had been said to him : “Hancock, you cannot com¬ 
mand here to-day." 

Hancock rode over to Doubleday ; they exchanged a few words 
in private, heated talk; Doubleday took charge, and it was he who 
executed Hancock's commands and saved the position. Howard 
received the credit and the thanks of Congress for having selected 
this position, but I assert here, as if it were a dying statement and 
my hopes of eternity hung on it, that Howard did not, until Han¬ 
cock forced him to act, take any steps to hold the place. 

Hancock's arrival upon the field, in obedience to General Meade's 
command, turned defeat into victory. His imposing presence, 
together with the admirable disnosition of the First and Eleventh 


THE BOY SPY. 


532 

Corps and Buford's Cavalry, created in General Lee’s mmd the 
impression that we had been reinforced. In proof of this fact I 
will refer to the official reports of General Lee, lately published, in 
which lie states that he had “restrained pursuit” because of the 
belief that we had been reinforced. 

Much has been written upon the subject of this battle of Gettys¬ 
burg, but this point has been little touched upon by any writer who 
is a wholly disinterested witness. My testimony is not of a regi¬ 
mental kind, for I am simply trying to tell of my own personal 
observation and experience. As a Headquarters-Staff man, I went 
everywhere I considered it safe to go. I only knew such regiments 
as contained Pennsylvania friends, and especially those of the Penn¬ 
sylvania Reserves, while I knew certain other commands in the 
Second and Fifth Corps. I generally knew where to find them 
when we were in camp, but would only meet them on the march 
accidentally. 

There was one little incident that occurred, however, in the 
presence of Hancock, Howard, Doubleday, and the crowd which 
had gathered around them on Cemetery Hill, that some of the sur¬ 
vivors who may read this article will remember, and may thereby 
establish the identity of the men or regiments which were “going 
up the hill and down again.” After it had been decided by Han¬ 
cock and Doubleday to try and stop 'Mie rout of the Eleventh Corps, 
Howard “ caught on,” as we say nowadays, but only awakened to 
the importance of holding the place after Hancock had bulldozed 
him into it. One big, tall fellow, with side-whiskers (I give his 
description because I do not know his name or regiment), who was 
carrying the regimental colors, rolled up, stalked over to where 
Howard was spurring his horse around at a lively waltz, issuing his 
orders to everybody who would carry into effect Hancock’s sugges¬ 
tions. 

This Color-Sergeant, in a wild and dramatic way, stood beside 
Howard’s frisky horse and made his little speech, which was listened 
to with more apparent deference than had been accorded to Han¬ 
cock. I am not conscious of having any personal feeling or pre¬ 
judice against General Howard—in fact, I am politically the other 
way—but think, as a chronicler of events, that I can be perfectly 
fair now in my estimation of men and events which occurred 


THE EOT SPY . 


533 



twenty-five years ago. This Color-Sergeant and Howard had a 
little scene up on the hill to which almost everybody else was obliv¬ 
ious, having as much as they could attend to at the time themselves. 
But I heard the'Sergeant say, in quite a loud voice : “ Fll take the 
flag down there," pointing to the stone wall just below, “ if these 
men will stand by me." Howard replied in a low voice, tremulous 
with excitement, at which the color-bearer and a few men started 
down toward the stone wall, which was the last I ever saw or heard 
of them, although I have little doubt, if this man lived through the 
battle, he was favorably mentioned in Howard’s report, and got his 
commission, as it was a brave act on the part of the color-bearer; 
but I can’t help but think it would have looked better (to my eyes 
at least) if he liad stopped with his colors at the wall on his way 
up, and not have made his little speech for apparent elfect. 

Perhaps some person will ask why Generals Hancock and Dou¬ 
bleday did not lay claim to the credit of this manoeuver at the time. 
Probably they did, but of this I know nothing. Howard was Han¬ 
cock’s senior, and, as such, was entitled to the command during 
Meade’s absence. But through some hocuspocus Howard received 
the vote of thanks by Congress for doing that which he did not 
do, and so the matter stands to-day. 

Hancock was a noble-looking soldier. There was something in 
his appearance during a fight, while on his large horse, that was 
wonderfully impressive. Sheridan’s ride up the Valley, in which 
his presence is credited with turning a disastrous defeat into a vic¬ 
tory, was no more important in its results, in my estimation, than 
Hancock’s dashing and well-timed arrival on Cemetery Hill on the 
afternoon of the first day of Gettysburg. There can be little doubt 
but that his prompt action secured the position, and his very pres¬ 
ence, while talking with Howard, served to check the fugitives who 
were passing over the hill in droves. 

It may also be asked why I bring this subject up at this late 
date, and after Hancock’s death ? For years I have avoided all 
talk on the subject of army experience. I would have sooner asked 
Hancock to take a drink in a public-bar-room than to have broached 
this matter to him. He was not the sort of a man who invited 
everybody’s opinion. He always impressed me, and I was near him 
often, with the feeling that he was the ideal Regular soldier, and 


THE BOY SPY. 


m 

could only be approached through official channels. It was pro¬ 
bably to this disposition, to leave everything to official reports, that 
can be attributed the fact that he did not always, obtain through 
the newspapers the credit to which he was clearly entitled. 

I therefore contend that Hancock is the hero of Gettysburg, 
not only of the third, but of the first day; and had he been in 
supreme command, and remained unharmed. General Lee would 
not have gotten away so easily; the war might have ended a year 
sooner than it did, and more than likely Gettysburg would have 
been in history what Appomattox now is, while Grant would have 
equally divided honors with Hancock. I sometimes think that, 
like a great many other good Generals in the East, Hancock 
became soured by the promotion of Grant’s Western men to the 
best position in the Army of the Potomac. 

Grand old Army of the Potomac ! Xoble, patient, long-suffer¬ 
ing Army of the Potomac. Its greatest battles were fought while 
Meade and Hancock were subordinates—before Grant came out of 
the West to lead it to the Wilderness and Cold Harbor. 

Everybody on Cemetery Hill did their utmost to check the 
shattered column, which had been doubled back from the right and 
the officers and men thrown into confusion; and the few men of 
the Staff had a hard time to rally these demoralized soldiers, for, 
as is well known to everybody who has had any connection with 
the army, a body of men once broken are about as hard to control 
as is a resistless mountain torrent. 

I became so much engaged in this work, personally, that for a 
while I neglected to look around to see what was happening else¬ 
where. The men had come up from the town, and all stopped on 
the hill behind the wall, their guns cocked and lying across the 
top. 

I was seated on my horse by the side of the big arched fancy 
gate of the old Cemetery, and, before I suspected that the Rebels 
were near, a minie-ball struck the brick-work of the gate, which I 
found, upon examination, was but a few feet above my head. 

I had turned briskly around in search of some of my recent com¬ 
panions, to tell them that evidently the Rebel sharpshooters had 
secured places on the roofs, when I was almost paralyzed to discover 
that they had disappeared—scarcely anybody to be seen, save a lot 


TJIE BOY SPY 


of infantry, who were hugging the ground all around, Not being 
under the orders of any particular officer, I was, of course, lik© 
<e nobody’s child,” and had to look out for myself. I hurriedly gox 
behind the hill, when, to my consternation, I heard the rapid, sharp, 
hammer-like firing over on Culp's Hill, which seemed to me to be 
directly in our rear. It is a geometrical fact that the Rebels were 
almost in the rear of our position on Cemetery Hill. A glance at a 
map will explain this. Cemetery Hill projects like the point or 
promontory of a peninsula out into the sea of the Rebel Army, 
which was apparently on three sides of it. 

The first thing I did was to look around for Hancock, thinking, 
if he was somewhere about, I would attach myself to him, as a means 
to get me out safely. Rut he was nowhere in sight; neither was 
Doubleday, Howard or any of the big guns I had just left on the 
hill; and, glancing down the Baltimore road to the rear, I saw such 
signs of general commotion that it gave me the impression that we 
were going to be surrounded. 

I thought then that Hancock had made an awful big mistake in 
allowing the men up there to be caught in the rear while lying 
behind the stone wall looking in the opposite direction. I was not 
the only one who entertained this opinion at that juncture, by a 
large majority. But future events proved that Hancock was right 
and we were all wrong. 

I went back over the same old road, along which I had dashed 
so gallantly in the morning, and did not stop until safely established 
near General Pleasonton, and so far to the rear that the sound of 
guns did not disturb my rest that night. 

One day of Gettysburg should be enough. It was for me. The 
battle has been fought over so often in the newspapers that there is 
scarcely anything new to be said. Of course, my experience was 
peculiar in this—that I went as I pleased. Regimental history relates 
only to the observations from one fixed point. 

The evening of the first day it looked badly enough to me, and 
if I had been Commander-in-Chief, I think I should have changed 
the base to a point a little farther away from the Rebels. I was 
defeated. 

I was on hand bright and early the morning of the second day. 
I was not in so much of a hurry to save the day as I had been the 


THE BO 7 SPY. 


536 

first day. I rode down the same roaci I did the morning before, 
but I went along more cautiously. There was no booming of guns 
to be heard. Though nearly two hundred thousand men had been 
gathered there in the night, the surroundings the second morning 
were decidedly peaceful—unusually quiet—ominously as compared 
with the first morning and the evening of the first day. 

I had slept in the same haymow from which I had been awak¬ 
ened the previous morning. 

I came down the road straight toward Cemetery Hill to find 
headquarters—at least, that is what I started out to reach. I was 
stopped before I got up the hill, by an order from somebody to 
“Get out of the road.” I got off as directed, and went into a 
little grove to the left, and almost in the rear of the Cemetery, 
where I had seen a group of officers on horseback. Ido not remem¬ 
ber who they were, but, seeing that they did not know any more 
than I about the “prospect,” which was just then the important 
question, I tied my horse to a tree, that I might reconnoiter on foot, 
and find out something for myseif. I proceeded to climb up the 
crest of the hill on my hands and knees, with all the humility, 
respect and caution that I felt was due to the Rebels. I wanted to 
see them all once more very much, indeed, but I did not care to 
have any of their sharpshooters discover me first. There were bat¬ 
teries upon batteries, the horses of which were down on the hill to 
the rear, in care of their riders. The artillerymen were, of course, 
around their guns, but most of them were hunting places not too 
much exposed. I did not see the line at first; you know the artil¬ 
lery is always behind, or to the rear of a line of battle, supported by 
infantry. Bound to see the shape of our advance of that line of 
battle, I went as far out as the very crest of the hill nearest the 
Cemetery gate. When I got that far I was paralyzed by another 
yell, from some unseen quarter, to “ Get down, there! ” I got 
down, and in that abject position heard the voice explain, in not 
very gentle tones, “ The sharpshooters are on the tops of those 
houses.” The houses referred to were so close that I could almost 
count the bricks in the chimney-tops. 

There was another curious fellow—an officer—some distance 
ahead of me, standing behind a tree, looking for all the world as if 
he was having lots of fun playing hide-and-seek with someone. I 



▲ GLOSS CALL AT 6ETTXBBUB& 









































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THE BOY SPY. 


537 


concluded to play, too, and crawled up to the base of another tree 
close beside him. When I got behind the tree, I felt perfectly safe 
from an attack of the whole Rebel army. I was feeling so secure in 
this position that I became bold enough to stand to one side, that 1 
might ge f a good view of our fellows. I saw them lying down or 
silently moving about behind that old stone wall. 

While I was yet intently gazing over the valley in hopes of see¬ 
ing the Rebels, there was a little “ ping” noise near me, a sharp 
sting on my face, as if some one had thrown a handful of gravel at 
me. It was only some of the bark of the tree, which had been 
dusted into my face by a minie-ball. ♦ 

I got behind the tree. I stayed there, too, standing up against 
it as stiff as a post, and hugging it as close as its own bark. I was 
afraid to turn my head either to the left or to the right. I had 
seen enough, and slid down to the ground and crawled back on all- 
fours, after the manner of the harlequin on the stage. I found the 
headquarters, which was located not very far' from that spot, but 
out of reach of any hiding sharpshooters on the house-tops at the 
upper end of the town. 

During all that morning I was about headquarters, trying to 
find out what in thunder was up; everything was oppressively quiet. 

In the early afternoon I sent a note addressed to General Meade 
into the dingy little old shanty where he had his headquarters. 
They were having a prolonged caucus. I proposed to send a detail 
of men to try to open up telegraph communication with Baltimore 
and Washington. I had discovered that the wires were down at 
some point on the railroad, and wanted to rebuild the line. In 
reply to this suggestion, which may be on file some place, as it was 
a written communication. General Meade sent me out to see Gen¬ 
eral Gregg. This officer, who is a native of Pennsylvania, and at 
present is residing at Reading, greeted me most courteously, say¬ 
ing : “ General Meade directs me to say to you, sir, that he appreci¬ 
ates the importance of securing the telegraph service, and desires 
you to be prepared to act upon it.” 

I was at the headquarters later on, when all the Generals who 
had been attending the Council of War came filing out, with their 
swords rattling, their faces wearing a determined, if not anxious, 
expression. 


538 


THE BOY SPY. 


Each of the officers, without uttering a word, but acting as if 
he had an important business engagement on hand and was behind 
time at the appointment, quickly mounted their horses, all darting 
off in different directions. 

I took the liberty of propounding a question to General Gregg.- 
I should consider it impertinent, at my present age, for any one to 
ask me such a question. 

But these were Avar times, which is the apology I now tender 
to General Gregg publicly. He will get a copy of this book with 
the author’s compliments. 

I asked the General, bluntly, if there “ was anything up.” He 
answered by significantly pointing over his shoulder to General 
Meade, who was at the moment in big boots, strutting off to his 
horse, which an orderly held near the assembled Staff. 

“It looks as if something was up, don’t it?” 

I thought it did ;—and as everybody else was mounting their 
horses I followed the example; that is, I followed General Meade, who 
was my example, over toward what was then the front of the 
Round Tops or Sickles’ salient. 

I can not go into Sickles’ fight at Gettysburg. I know noth¬ 
ing more about it than has been published, except the im¬ 
pression that I gathered at the headquarters, and throughout 
the army at the time, in the days that immediately followed, 
which in effect was, that General Sickles had played a big card 
in hopes of accomplishing something on his own account that 
would give him the command of the Army of the Potomac. As 
all know, it was a continual fight between our Generals as to 
who should be the Chief. Sickles lost his opportunity and his 
leg at the same time. It was the common talk then, and few 
cared to dispute it some years ago, when Meade and Hancock 
were get alive, that, if Sickles had not lost his leg, he would have 
lost his commission. 

I was at Gettysburg with General Sickles in July, 1880 and 
1888, and interviewed him for the press on this subject. He 
showed considerable feeling over the hostile attitude of other dis¬ 
tinguished officers toward his absurd claim of having Avon the 
battle of Gettysburg, by being defeated the second day. 

At the time, it looked to me like another first day, and, as I Avas 


/ 


THE BOY SPY. 52$ 

anxious to bo on the safe side, I retired to the valley between the 
Round Tops. 

While riding out toward the rear, from between the Round 
I ops, I met a double line of battle slowly advancing. It was so 
long a line that I could not see either end of it through the under¬ 
growth. In endeavoring to find a break, or hole, to get through, I 
asked some of the officers what troops these were, and my recollec¬ 
tion is they were the Pennsylvania Reserves. I have often won¬ 
dered since why some mention is not made of this reserve being on 
hand there to receive Longstreet if he had come through Sickles. 

The appalling fear before me, as I faced those fellows advancing, 
with their guns loaded and bayonets fixed, pointing at my horsed 
breast, was that they wouldn't let me through, but might drive me 
ahead of them. I was not ambitious to lead them down through 
that valley, where so much noise was being made by Rebel yells 
and musketry. 

I will never forget that double row of dirty faces. They had been 
on a forced march all day, perhaps, to reach the field. The dust of 
the roads had adhered to their perspiring faces, presenting a war¬ 
paint effect that was ludricious even at so serious a time. 

“How does a man feel in battle?" is a question often asked, or 
Cf Were you frightened the first time? " My answer is: “ Yes, and 
every other time." I never heard a shell screech, or a minie-ball 
whistle or whiz, that I wished, with all my soul, that I had not come. 
I was scared when I went in the first and the last battle. 

At the end of every fight I felt, somehow, as if the war was a 
failure, and we might as well go home, we so seldom had the satis¬ 
faction of seeing the Rebels run. 

A majority of people have formed an idea that a battle is a con- 
tinous uproar, from daylight until dark, or during all of the day on 
which it occurs. As a matter of fact, the real fight is soon over, 
one way or another; that is, the actual contest of the larger bodies 
ends about as suddenly as a collision on a rajlroad. 

It is a longtime beginning; may be the picket-firing of the night 
previous is the first indication; then will come the more frequent 
clattering from the skirmish-line, with an occasional shot from a 
battery ; perhaps it ends with this. 

I have nearly always noticed that the officers and men thought 


540 


THE BOY SPY. 


it had ended, and were only suddenly awakened to the fact that it 
had not, by a tremendous boom from some battery, that would nearly 
always be discovered to be at some point they did not expect a hos¬ 
tile shot to come from. 

It may not be an agreeable thing to print, but it has been my 
experience in battle, that it was always the unexpected that happened 
to our officers. 

ddie first time I was under fire, I happened to be near a battery, 
and. became so much excited by the booming of the guns, and the 
action of the men and officers, that I did not realize my danger. 

A battery pounding shot into an enemy is the most inspiriting 
music a soldier can hear. Of course, 3-011 can not tell whether the shot 
hit any one or not, as they go so far, but you instinctively feel, from 
the big noise and fussy kick the thing makes every time it is fired, 
that something must get hurt at the other end. 

As a rule, it is not the artillery that does the damage; the shells 
most frequently go entirely over the heads of a line of battle and 
drop far to the rear, where they stampede the mules about the 
wagon trains and scare the skulkers. 

The wounds are not always received at the front. It is the 
nasty little bullets that do the greater damage to the men in line. 

O11 this occasion I felt, from the way this battery had been 
pounding into the woods, a mile or so away, that they had killed 
everybody over there, so I boldly advanced on my horse to the front 
or skirmish-line. On my way out, I saw coming toward me two 
fellows carrying, or rather supporting, a third between them; getting 
closer, I discovered that the man they were carrying had his leg 
oft'; indeed, it seemed as if his whole lower body had been torn oft 
at the hip, leaving his bleeding flesh hanging in shreds to his light- 
blue pantaloons. 

I naturally stopped when they got nearer, when I discovered, to 
my horror, that the poor man’s bowels were actually trailing on the 
ground. He was yet alive; his eyes were fixed upon me in a sor¬ 
rowful, longing way that I shall never, never get out of my mind. 

While paralyzed by this sight, I was so sick that I almost fell 
off my horse, by seeing one of the men accidentally tread on his 
bowels, which served to draw more of his entrals from his torn and 
bleeding body. The poor fellow was then past all pain. I hurried 


THE BOY SPY. 


541 

forward to get away from the horrible sight, only to come on a, hoy 
in blue, who was lying flat on his face, as if he had been literally 
biting the dust, all choked up—dead. 

You will notice in all the pictures of battles that the dying are 
usually represented as throwing up their hands and falling back¬ 
ward gracefully. 

As a matter of fact, the men usually fall forward, unless they are 
struck by a missile so large that its weight will carry them back¬ 
ward by the momentum. I have observed that a wounded man’s 
head drops forward; this, I presume, has a tendency to cause the 
body to fall forward with the weight of the head ; and the fact that 
the dead, who die on the field, are nearly always found with their 
faces down, burrowed, has created the expression, “biting the dust.” 

As it generally rains after a battle, I have noticed the wounded 
and dying nearly always crawl to a pool of water, and their dead 
faces are often found as if, they had died in an effort to wet their 
parched tongues. 

Every person I have talked with for five minutes about Gettys¬ 
burg, asks the question: “ Were you there when Pickett charged?” 
as if that famous incident comprised the whole of the battle, where¬ 
as it was only the fire-works at the end of the three days’ meeting. 

When Pickett’s charge was made I was behind the stone wall, 
about three miles away, and, consequently, did not see it. 

At the “ supreme moment,” I was quietly picking blackberries 
in an old field where the reserve artillery had been parked. 

When the tremendous firing began and the reserve artillery were 
ordered down, I stopped my blackberrying, out of season, and went 
down to the front to see what the fuss was all about. 

Pickett’s charge has been done—and over-done—so very thor¬ 
oughly by both sides, that I shall not even attempt to add a word 
to the mass of stuff that has already been printed about it. 

There is, however, a little story about a charge of Pennsylvani¬ 
ans in the Virginia “ burg,” led by the glorious but unobtrusive 
Meade, that the old Army of the Potomac should not themselves 
forget, nor allow tlieir old-time enemies to obliterate, or snow under. 
I refer to the charge of Meade on the left at Fredericksburg, 
December 11 th, 1862 , where, with fewer numbers, he accomplished 
greater results than Pickett against greater odds: 


THE BOY SPY. 


With the Rappahannock River in the rear, Meade led his Divi¬ 
sion over a mile of plain under a heavy artillery fire, and broke the 
celebrated Stonewall Jackson line, and penetrated 600 yards beyond 
their line. If he had been sustained, the slaughter at Marye’s 
Heights would have been avoided. 

It was also at Marye’s Heights, where greater heroism was 
shown, where not one grand attempt was made, but where charge 
after charge was made against an absolutely impregnable position, 
yet one never hears of these charges. 

The gallant Allabach, the veteran of two wars, led the last final 
onslaught on Marye’s Heights, at the head of a small brigade of 
Pennsylvania troops of Humphrey’s Division that had never before 
been under fire, and this handful comparatievly, went into the very 
jaws of death, and, though they did not reach the stone wall, they 
got nearest to it and kept their ground, within a few rods of it till 
dark, when they were ordered to fall back. 

' No prisoners were taken at Fredericksburg as there were a- 
Gettysburg. 

The snake. Secession, had its back-bone broken at Gettysburg 10 
be sure, but boys of the dear old Army of the Potomac—patient, 
noble, long-suffering old Army of the Potomac-j-remember the 
early, the dark days, when Meade, Hancock, Reynold, Warren, 
Humphreys, etc., were our immediate commanders; do not for¬ 
get the old Army of the Potomac and its numerous general 
officers when the proper praises are so freely being given to its 
kiter chiefs. 

Though the final charge of Pickett, preceded and attended as it 
was by peculiarly dramatic surroundings, has furnished a subject 
for more speeches, historical essays, paintings, poems, than any 
other event which ever occurred in America, yet, in point of fact, 
history is wrong in ascribing the credit to Pickett. 

The charge was not led by Pickett, neither were the troops who 
did the most gallant fighting Virginians. 

It is reserved for these Spy papers to record, on the testimony of 
reliable. Confederate officers, that Pickett did not get within a 
mile of our lines. 

The best fighting was done by the North Carolinians and Ten¬ 
nesseeans, led by Pettigrew; therefore, it should be Pettigreiv’s 


THE BOY SPY. 


tus 

charge. In this, as in many other matters, the historians of the war 
ire at fault. 

May we hope that the humble efforts of the “ Boy,” in these 
pages, will, at least, call attention to some of these inaccuracies* 
with a view of getting at the truth. 

As I have intimated, I have endeavored to collect some recent 
testimony from the Southern side, having spent some time on the 
old war-trail, which I hope to be able to put in shape soon. The time 
must come when the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, will 
be known, and then, perhaps, future generations may be taught to 
see that to the Pennsylvania Reserves is due some of the honor, 
valor, gallantry and patriotism that is now being so freely offered 
to the Pickett survivors. 

No one will question their bravery at Gettysburg on July 3rd, 
1803 ; but since then, and on July 4th, 1887, the survivors have left 
themselves open to attack, in assuming their positions in reference 
to monuments. 

There remains among the Southern people an ignorant, deep- 
seated belief, which is being taught the “New South,” that, if 
Longstreet had properly supported Pickett, they would have been 
successful, and the country would have become a Confederacy. 
There is a great deal of “if” in all the survivors’ talk in the New 
South, so that we may indulge in the use of the little word, and 
propose a few conundrums—possibilities. 

What would have been the result, if Meade had been supported 
by Franklin, when he broke Stonewall Jackson’s line at Fredericks¬ 
burg ? And if Sedgwick had been properly supported by Hooker, 
at Chancellorsville, when he drove Early from behind the “impreg¬ 
nable” works on Marye’sHeights? Once more: If Pickett had 
succeeded and had broken into our line, and had been supported, 
by Longstreet, then if the Sixth Corps, which had scarcely been 
engaged in the great fight, had turned in on them on the flank, if 
any of them had gotten back at all it would have been a miracle. 
If on the other hand. General Meade had taken Hancock’s 
advice and turned the Reserves and the Sixth Corps loose after 
Pickett the war might have ended. If they were to try it again 
they would be whipped worse. If they don’t believe it, fire c i Fort 
Sumter. If we had never been born we would not have to die. 


There was one little episode I have never seen recorded. After 
the charge of Pickett—on the third day—had failed, everything had 
quieted down. Meade, accompanied by his Staff, went over the 
wall and rode along our entire front, from Cemetery Hill to the 
Pound Tops, receiving the cheers of the whole army, or all that 
was left. 

That w r as the only time I ever heard music on a battlefield ; then 
it was from a band in the woods at Little Round Top, that played 
‘•'Hail to the Chief/’ 

I never hear that old tune, nowadays, on these fancy parades, 
but it brings up the recollection of that great day and causes the 
cold chills to creep up and down my s'pine. 

I rode with General Meade this day; to prove which, I will ask 
some of the survivors who witnessed that event to recall a smooth¬ 
faced boy on a lame horse that brought up the rear of the dashing 
cavalcade. My nag got hurt the first day, and I did not have a 
chance to steal another, and, as I was bound to be on hand, I had to 
ride my lame horse. 

The General and Staff always go at a break-neck gallop, theStaif 
tearing along in the rear, like a tail to a comet, so that, in this case, 
I “got left” about a gunshot to the rear; and, because I so ener¬ 
getically spurred the lame horse, to catch up, our boys, behind the 
stone wall, gave me the laugh and some cheers of derision. They 
were all feeling pretty good just then, and were excusable. 

One of the Statf-officers told me that we had captured General 
Longstreet, and when I got over among the Reserves I told this bit 
of news, where it created a sensation. 

I have never seen an account of that ride along the lines in print. 
It is correct, though it may have been the fourth day instead of 
the third. You will find in the Rebel reports of the battle, that 
General Lee states that, on hearing these shouts and cheers fromour 
army, he thought it meant an advance on his line, and he made 
preparations to meet it. I think it was the cheers for General 
Meade that he heard, even so distant as his headquarters. 

But we will leave Gettysburg. I want to say something about 
Kilpatrick and the Corn Exchange Regiment of emergency men, 
that came out of Philadelphia at that time to repel the invasion. 

It is not for me to erUip.ise General Meade for not closely pur- 


V 


TTTE BOY SPY. 


suing Lee’s shattered army. We all know that, when a rattle snake 
is chased into his hole, he don’t leave his tail exposed, but at once 
presents his head to the entrance. I remember that some days 
after Gettysburg, while we were at Emmittsburg, or between there 
and Frederick, Maryland, General Kilpatrick and some of his asso¬ 
ciates had an animated conversation about it, which everybody in 
the neighborhood heard, as Kilpatrick was a free talker when he 
became very much interested in a subject. On this occasion he 
freely expressed his disgust with the slow proceedings, but no one 
who knew Kilpatrick well paid much attention to his bluster, lie 
was nick-named “ Kill Cavalry,” because of his recklessness and 
anparent disregard of his own and the Jives of his men. 

I will relate a single incident illustrating this General’s, charac¬ 
ter, that occurred in my hearing at Hagerstown. At the time of 
the Gettysburg campaign there had been quite a lot of emergency 
toops called out by the Governor of Pennsylvania—“ ninety-minute 
men” we called them. On our march from Gettysburg we met 
with these home-guards at different points. I remember that just 
outside of the town of Frederick, Maryland, there was a regiment 
of these men doing guard duty. As we marched by, and these citi¬ 
zen-soldiers, who were fresh in their picturesque, zoo-zoo uniforms, 
or, as they are sometimes called, “Night-drawers Cadets,” the dirty- 
looking, old, blue-bloused veterans chaffed them most unmercifully. 
It was wet weather, and the roads were muddy, a a is always the 
case after a battle. Wherever these ninety-minute men were sta¬ 
tioned on guard duty, they were to be found perched as sentries on 
top of a pile of cracker-boxes or fence rails, to keep their feet out 
of the mud, the boxes giving them the appearance of a statue on a 
pedestal. 

“ Pretty boys,” “ Nice little sogers,” “ Don’t get your feet wet, 
sonny; you might take cold,” “ Let me kiss him for his sister,” are 
mild specimens of the expressions hurled at them from the march¬ 
ing columns of old vets. 

" My recollection is that these were Philadelphia troops. When 
we reached Hagerstown, we ran into a lot more of them, that had 
come down the Cumberland Valley from Harrisburg and Cham- 
bersburg to head Lee off. One of'these organizations was, I think, 
called the Corn Exchange Regiment, recruited, or at least fathered, 


THE BOY SPY . 


546 

and sent into tne field by the wealthy gentlemen of the Philadel¬ 
phia Exchange. They were composed of what may be termed the 
better class of men; at least, that was their own estimate of them¬ 
selves. At their Philadelphia home they probably ranked as rather 
an exclusive set of boys. Their officers were decidedly “fresh,” to 
use a slang term ; at least, we around headquarters, who had become 
accustomed to pay some attention to military etiquette, were disgusted 
to see these line officers crowd around our Generals, to stare at and 
talk as familiarly as if they were all corps commanders. 

Custer and Kilpatrick, with whom I was then serving, were at 
first immensely amused at the efforts of the militia officers to make 
themselves agreeable. The officers and men, too, felt, no doubt, 
that it was their only opportunity to see a live General, like Kilpat¬ 
rick and Custer, and were bound to gratify their curiosity while they 
had a chance. 

In addition to their curiosity, these chaps were continually 
imploring General Kilpatrick to let them have “just one chance at 
the Rebels.” They begged that they might be permitted to have an 
opportunity to distinguish themselves before they returned to Phil¬ 
adelphia. 

One evening Kilpatrick told Custer, in my hearing, to put some 
of these men out on the picket-line, which was really a most dan¬ 
gerous place, for they were in close proximity to the rear-guard of 
Lee’s army. The rear of an army cornered, as was Lee’s at that 
time, is an ugly place to put a recruit, and General Kilpatrick knew 
very well that, in yielding to their foolish requests, he was subject¬ 
ing them to great danger. But General Kilpatrick concluded he 
would have a little fun out of the recruits, so he placed some of 
them on the advance line, and watched to see what they would do 
if attacked. We all dismounted, and were watching the lines of 
Rebels. The officer of the guard protested against having these 
new men on his line, saying they would be likely to raise a hornets’ 
nest about our ears, but Kilpatrick told him to let them try their 
hands a little while. These men went up the hill a little distance, 
when their brilliant uniforms attracted the attention of the John¬ 
nies, and, as they acted as though they were going to drive Lee’s 
army across the Potomac, they let these recruits have a few shots 
by way of warning, which was answered by the Philadelphians, who 


THE BOY SPY. 


5ip 

became excited, with a broadside. The Rebel fire had injured about 
a dozen of the recruits, one big fellow keeling over and yelling like 
a boy stumping a sore toe. Instead of continuing up the hill, or 
even falling back, they all crowded together where the wounded lay, 
and began to condole with them. They were finally brought away, 
with the loss of a few more men, and they did not bother General Kil¬ 
patrick again to be placed in the front rank of the army. Rut there 
was one thing about Kilpatrick: he never ordered a man to go 
where he was not willing to lead. I stood beside him the following 
day, near Williamsport, when a rifle-ball whizzed close by his ear. 
Jerking up his hand nervously, ■as if stung by a bee, or to brush off 
a mosquito, he turned to me ana said : “ Holy Moses ! That ball 
came near hitting me.” But he didn't move out of range of that 
sharpshooter—but I did. 


..-a 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


CLOSING CHAPTER. 

We were all expecting another great battle at Hagerstown. I 
hung close to the headquarters in the stirring days, after Gettys¬ 
burg, during which I witnessed some scenes that would make 
quite interesting reading. At this time there was frequent com¬ 
munication between the Washington War Department and Head¬ 
quarters, the greater part of which, coming by wire, I had an oppor¬ 
tunity of scanning. 

In reading the recent Century war-papers, and also some of the 
official reports now being published, the thought oftenest occurring 
to my mind is, why don’t they publish everything, even the little 
straws, which significantly tell which way the wind was blowing at 
that time. We were in a manner besieged by the visitors who 
thronged about Headquarters, after Gettysburg, in a civil, inquis¬ 
itive way that was very annoying to the officers. 

General Meade has never received the full meed of praise to 
which he was entitled for his management of the Army of the Poto¬ 
mac during and in the days immediately following Gettysburg. 

He was a peculiar man—in many ways, one not constituted to 
“command” attention. He was evidently conservative, and, per¬ 
haps, too cautious, but when one recalls that he had won a great 
victory, and in forcing a second battle, unprepared, he not only 
staked his hard-earned laurels, but he risked the army and the Cap¬ 
itol. 

I happen to know that General Meade felt keenly President 
Lincoln’s severe criticism, though it was uttered in his usual, jok¬ 
ing way. The General was an exceedingly sensitive man, and when 
he got to hear that the President compared him and his pursuit of 
Lee over the Potomac to an old woman shooing her geese over the 
river, he actually wanted to resign. 

General Meade was every inch a soldier, as well as a gentleman, 
by birth and training. 

In camp he was the most unpretentious looking of the General 


THE BOY SPY. 


5&b 

officers. His spectacled face, rather quiet, scholarly bearing, reminds 
me of professors or doctors whom we frequently see; they resemble 
him in appearance. 

He always wore a slouch hat, and around his neck was invaria¬ 
bly worn the old-fashioned leather stock, used in the Regular Army 
on recruits to keep their heads checked up. 

He usually slept in an ambulance attached to. Headquarters. 

We learned that Lee had retreated the night before the impend¬ 
ing battle, and early in the morning the cavalry were astir, in per- 
suit. I rode from Hagerstown to Williamsport, Md., with General 
Kilpatrick, following precisely the same road I had footed it 
when scouting, just before Bull Run. We passed through the 
deserted camps, in which the fires were still burning. The Rebels 
had so hurriedly left them that in many places their camp equip¬ 
ages were left behind. 

Kilpatrick was mad. lie was very mad—on seeing the enemy 
had all gotten away, and, putting spurs to his own horse, dashed 
ahead of his advance guard, and rode so recklessly that those of us 
not so well mounted had difficulty in keeping up. 

He instinctively suav that there was no force in his immediate 
front, and, without paying any attention to the hundreds of Rebel 
stragglers who were on the road, he gave order to his command to 
hurry on to the river after him. 

On reaching Williamsport, we made a little haul of stragglers, 
but Kilpatrick sat on his horse sideways, looking over the river 
into Virginia with an expression of disgust on his face that I shall 
never forget. 

Some of the colored residents of the town told Kilpatrick of the 
enemy's manner of retreat. Not a Rebel was in sight, but they 
also notified him of a Rebel battery that was slyly masked in the 
woods over the river, intended as a deadly ambuscade for any troop 
that should precipitately follow too close. 

On hearing this, Kilpatrick quietly put a house between him¬ 
self and the aforesaid masked battery. When our artillery came 
up with the cavalry, I was sent to conduct a section of it to a 
«ertain place behind the houses, but which admitted of the guns 
pointing between two adjoining houses. 

The colored people who lived in them gave the gunners the exact 


550 


THE BO 7 SPY. 


ioeation of the Rebels, and in less time than it takes for me to des¬ 
cribe it, our section let them have a dose of the medicine they in¬ 
tended for us. 

The Rebels were so surprised the}'' did not have time to return 
the salute, but scampered away as fast as they could. At this, the 
entire colored population of the town, which had assembled, broke 
out in the wildest yells of delight I had ever heard. 

Custer, accompanied by a few officers of his Staff dashed up to 
Kilpatrick, who, by the way, was the senior, or the General in 
Command, and m his eager, boyish way, said : “ General, hadn't I 
better go down below here and see if we cant find some of f those 
people' ?" 

General Lee never called the Union Army Federals or 
Yankees—it was always “ those people." 

Kilpatrick laughed as he said something to Custer that was not 
intended for his superior. General Meade's ears. 

Custer, in his nervous manner, again suggested going after 
some of “ those people" down below. 

As if to gratify Custer's eagerness, not with any expectation of 
finding an enemy, Kilpatrick indifferently gave his consent, and 
Custer, turning to the Staff-officers, who were with him, gave a 
few orders and dashed off. I followed Custer at a gallop. 

"We rode three or four miles perhaps, when we reached some of 
our own cavalry and infantry. 

This was in the neighborhood of Falling Waters, and here, on 
the Potomac river, almost the same place I had, as a Scout, crossed 
into Dixie a year previously. We will, for the present, say good -by 
to^tlie grand old Army of the Potomac. 

There was a little battle at Falling Waters, in which Custer's 
Division participated. 

I cannot part from Custer, however, without a heartfelt word of 
praise and devotion for the gallant “Boy General." His Michi¬ 
gan troops were among the very best in our army. I hope some of 
the Western readers of this will see that I bear my humble testi¬ 
mony to the exhalted opinion Custer had of them. It was the cus¬ 
tom of the General to frequently discuss the relative merits of their 
troops, and Custer certainly did love his old Division. 

On this occasion, one of Custer's aides was a Michigan Officer 


VtfE nor SYY, 


and m my nearing, win . nor., ,-ack\ under tire. ■ Heard Uus. 

ter assure the officer that he had given Michigan full credit ior 
certain work in his official report. 

While straggling off from the headquarters during a skirmish 
with some Rebels upon a hill-top, I was surprised to see two good- 
looking young men in gray uniform come out of the woods and ride 
up to me. While in the midst of our army, it had never occurred 
to me that I was in any danger of capture, but, as I was still some 
distance from any of our troops, these two rebel chaps had me sure. 
Both were armed and well mounted, while I was, at the time, dis¬ 
mounted. To my great relief, however, they surrendered to me, 
stating that they were tired of the war, and did not want to go back 
to Virginia, so they had concealed themselves in the woods until 
an opportunity offered of surrendering. I welcomed them cordially 
to the North. One fellow at once handed me his pistol, belt and 
saber, which are to-day in my possession as trophies of war. The 
pistol contains yet the five loads that were put in it by the Rebel 
soldier. As my horse had been struck in the leg by a spent ball while 
on South Mountain, and was lamed from the bruise, I also traded 
horses with the Rebel. 

And now we will again say a reluctant good-by to the Army of 
the Potomac. 

So it came to pass that I returned to the very same grounds on 
which we had first visited the Army of Patterson, previous to Bull 
Run. We are again on the Potomac, nearly at the some point we 
had started from two years previously. 

Obtaining a furlough from the ever-accommodating General 
Alexander, Chief of Staff at Cavalry Corps Headquarters, I turned 
my horse’s head North and, instead of following the Army back into 
Virginia, I rode my Rebel horse, as the “solitary horseman,” 
dressed in my war clothes and wearing my captured saber and pistol, 
through Chambersburg to the little hamlet where I was born, 
where I enjoyed a few days’ rest with a sister, who was attending 
school at Chambersburg, and who had witnessed the Rebel Army’s 
occupation of the place. Her story would make an interesting 
chapter in this connection, but we are off duty now enjoying the 
furlough and must hurry home. 

In the few days that immediately followed, 1 rode, solitary and 


552 


THE BOY SPY. 


alone, along the old pike, over the Blue Ridge Mountains to Bed¬ 
ford, Pennsylvania, and from there debouched across the moun¬ 
tain by an almost unfrequented path to my father’s home at Wil- 
more near Cresson, where I surprised the homefolks by dashing up 
to the door about supper time, one summer evening, wearing the uni¬ 
form that I had taken away from there less than a year previously. 
It had, however, received its baptism of fire at Gettysburg and all 
along the line. 

The old Rebel horse remained on my father’s farm for many 
years. 

The story from this out must be told at another time. The 
wonderfully thrilling and romantic story of Geno and the Wells 
family—which represents the “ other side ”—will make a volume of 
romance in real life that is indeed stranger than fiction, and exceeds 
my own adventures in our lines. 

“ The story of our love is incomplete; ” 

The leaves of many years are missing; 

Lonely apart we pined, each seeking truth 
Together, we will find love’s land enchanted. 

The past is flown, the future still have we; 

So let our twin souls blend beyond the ages, 

Till young and fair, beside fhe Jasper Sea, 

We may discover all love’s torn out pages. 

One word of retrospect. As will be remembered, I was ambi¬ 
tious to secure a commission from the War Department. I had 
worked zealously and faithfully for it. My trials and troubles with 
the War Office have been told here. It had resulted in my being 
disappointed for many days. Yet, at the time of which I am writ 
ing, while I w r as serving as an enlisted man, drawing my ration :5 
and pay as such, I was in fact an officer and did not know it, ami 
only learned it some months afterward. This anomaly was brought 
about after Gettysburg by Mr. Lincoln, who, on learning of my 
former services, ordered my commission ante-dated one year. So 
that, when I got my parchment at last, I found that I ranked some 
of the older officers in seniority. 

As I have furnished other references to establish the correctness 
of my statements, I take especial pride in putting before the read¬ 
ers the following correspondence. 

I lost my original parchment while traveling in California in 
3 884. General Stoneman, then Governor, to whom I wrote about 
my loss, kindly interested himself in assisting me in my search for 


THE BOY SPY. 


553 


it y bn 6 , riot tinting it, I applied to the War Department for a cer¬ 
tified copy. The following is the reply, which explains itself : 

[2677 A, Y. X\ f 1885.] 

War Department, ) 

Adjutant-General's Office, V 
Washington, April 29, 1885. ) 

Mr.-.. 

Sir: Complying with your request of the 27th instant, l 
inclose herewith copies of your commission as Second Lieutenant, 
Signal Corps, and of letter of June 12, 1865, from this office, 
notifying you of the ncceptance of your resignation as such, to 
date June 9, 1865. 

Very respectfully, your obedient servant, 

C. McKeever, 

Assistant Adjutant-General, in charge. 

(Two inclosures.) 

As will be seen in the copy, I did not resign until after the war 
was over. 

The original was on parchment, with Mr. Lincoln's and Mr. 
Stanton's autograph signatures. 

THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 

To all who shall see these presents, greeting: 

Know ye. That, reposing special trust and confidence in the 
patriotism, valor, fidelity and abilities of J. 0. Kerbey, I have nom- 
ated, and, by and with the advice and consent of the Senate, do 
appoint him Second Lieutenant in the Signal Corps, in the service 
of the United States, to rank as such from the third day of March, 
eighteen hundred and sixty-three. He is, therefore, carefully and 
diligently to discharge the duty of Second Lieutenant by doing and 
performing all manner of things pertaining and thereunto belong¬ 
ing. And I do strictly charge and require all officers and soldiers 
under his command to be obedient to his orders as Second Lieu¬ 
tenant. And he is to observe and follow such orders and directions, 
from time to time, as he shall receive from me, or the future Presi¬ 
dent of the United States of America, or the General, or other 
superior officers set over kirn, according to the rules and discipline 



THE BOY SPY. 


of war. This commission is to continue in force during the pleas- 
”e of the President of the United States for the time being. 

Given under my hand, at the City of Washington, this fifteenth 
day of July, in the year of our Lord one thousand 

[Seal. J eight hundred and sixty-four, and in the eighty-ninth 

year of the independence of the United States. 

By the President. Abraham Lincoln. 

Edwin M. Stanton,. Secretary of War. 

I especially call attention to the dates of these papers. 

I would like to put in parallel columns Mr. Stanton's or& r 101 * 
arrest or confinement in Old Capitol, and his parole, wherein the 
words, “dangerous man, disloyal, Bebel spy/' etc., were used. 

The above copy of the original commission is burnished to the 
person named therein, the original commission having been destroyed 
or irrecoverably lost. This commission is not now effective, having 
expired previous to this date. C. McKeever, 

Assistant Adjutant-General* 

War Department, Adjutant-General's Office, 

April 29, 1885. 

COPY OF MY BREVET COMMISSION. 

Office of Chief Signal Officer, \ 
Washington, D. C., January, 1865 .) 

Sir: I am directed to inform you that the Chief Signal Officer 
desires to send to the General of the Army your recommendation 
for brevet. You are requested, therefore, to forward to this office 
copies of any papers bearing upon your services which may be in 
your possession. 

It is the object of the Chief Signal Officer to secure whatever 
material may influence to favorable action in the case. 

Very respectfully, your obedient servant, 
c Richard P. Strong, 

~ * Acting Chief Signal Officer. 

This accounts for my “ Captain-Major's" title. Promotions in 
this branch were rare—indeed, there were none; but I enjoyed, as a 


THE BOY SPY. 


555 

General Staff-officer, all the privileges and none of the responsibili¬ 
ties of the rank of a Major-General. 

As I have indicated, I stayed till it was over, and would do it 
again. 

As the reader will have seen, the work of a Spy is at all times 
unpleasant, exceedingly dangerous as well as thankless. 

It is, however, a necessary service in war. There is with some 
minds a vague impression that this secret service necessarily implies 
deceit and treachery. This is so only in the same sense that the 
strategy so often applied by the General is treachery. 

Strategy is an artifice of war that is considered honorable, and 
is practised by all the nations, yet it is seldom, if ever, applied 
without resorting to deceit and treachery. Therefore a spy may be 
as honorable as the General, who profits by his work. Often the 
victories of the Generals are made possible by the preliminary infor¬ 
mation obtained of the enemy’s force and movements, yet the 
official reports of the victorious Generals give the despised Spy no 
credit. 

It is the motive which should give character to any service. 
With me there was no mercenary consideration, and, as will be 
seen, the service became in a manner almost involuntary. 

I was simply willing to sacrifice myself that I might accomplish 
some good for the cause. 



* 


556 


THE BOY SPY. 


After the lapse of so many years, there has recently been unveiled 
in Hartford, Connecticut, a monument to the memory of Nathan 
Hale, who was a Spy of the Kevolutionary War, captured and exe¬ 
cuted on his first attempt to work in the enemy’s lines. Upon this 
tablet are these words: 

Stranger, beneath this stone 
Lies the dust of a 
A Spy 

Who perished upon the gibbet; 

Yet 

The storied marbles of the great. 

The shrines of heroes, 

Entombed not one more worthy of 
Honor 

Than him who here 
Sleeps his last sleep. 

Nations 

Bow with reverence before the dust 
Of him who dies 
A glorious death, 

Urged on by the sound of Lie 
Trumpet 

And the shouts of 
Admiring thousands. 

But what reverence, what honor. 

Is not due to one 
Who for his country encountered 
Even an infamous death, 

Soothed by no sympathy. 

Animated by no praise l 


\ 


TTTF! BOY SPY. 


557 


I would, as a last word, again say that my efforts as a Spy dur* 
ing the Rebellion were prompted solely by a disinterested patriotism 
and a single desire to do some good for the country. 

When my time is up, and I am mustered out, I ask of my corn- 
/ades, of the Grand Army of the Republic, not a monument, bul 



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